Katagâ
by Melpomene melancholica
Summary: drabbles and oneshots using themes from LJ community 31days no pairing or het.
1. The Wind Did Not Stir

Disclaimer: As always, Naruto is the property of Masashi Kishimoto, etc. Borrowing for purposes of entertainment.

_Katagâ_

_- _is "particle;" words left out when doing homework word counts for secondary school sadists (or so I thought)

-is a serviceable name for a collection of drabbles and one-shots lacking a unifying theme that could have yielded a more interesting title.

-are pieces written for the LiveJournal community 31days (which I started writing for late August '05), in response to daily themes, and other similar challenges.

-is wide-ranging; may be more exploratory in terms of style, theme, etc

-are all entries are listed at the bottom of this page; when a piece is added, the list is updated

**The Wind Did Not Stir**

_August 30: I am known to night and horses and the desert_

082205 11:24

He was known to night and horses and the desert. The night knew him well, because he did quite a lot of slinking after dark, even when off-duty. Of course, a ninja was never really off-duty, especially if that ninja's proximity to the Kazekage (aka the big honcho) was merely a few tiny permutations in his/her genetic code-or so he plagiarized from his sister. (She didn't know, of course, and what she didn't know wouldn't get him flayed.)

Kankuro was very dedicated to his brother. See, his brother wasn't that particular about genetics, so he had no qualms about creating a mini-oasis with a sibling's body fluids.

Now where was he? Horses, yes, horses. (It was getting harder and harder to latch on to a coherent thought. Inner monologues weren't that easy to follow when you have a healthy cocktail of poison cruising through your bloodstream and you keep drifting in and out of consciousness .) Now about horses. Horses couldn't stand him. They spit at him, they spit at his mother... No, those were camels; the filthy beasts turned out to be rabid after that shifty-eyed merchant who sold them to Kankuro trotted off with his money. Anyway, horses knew Kankuro well enough to run like hell whenever he came within a hundred paces near them. They knew he could rend them apart with his dummies' hands and chew them up with his own choppers for dinner.

Actually, his involvement with horses for the most part had been minimal. But the he-was-known-to-night-and-horses-etc bit sounded good, marauder-good, and decapitating your enemy's steed because you accidentally nicked yourself with your own poisoned darts and were too whoozy to distinguish where horse ended and man began ought to make you infamous, right?

Finally, the desert. Kankuro was born in the desert, grew up there, lived there-and that's no mean thing, you know? Desert life was tough life. As they say, you couldn't dawdle on a bed of roses out in the desert; there's not enough water to sprout a single seedling! (My, wasn't his humor irreverently good-natured today; it must be those neurotoxins. Kankuro didn't usually have much good-naturedness or flippancy in his nature. The sun tended to bake those out of ones system, if one's laid out in a village like Hidden Sand long enough.) No, the desert wasn't a kind mother-or any other relative for that matter. It was for the most part taciturn and relentless, harsh and extreme, bloodthirsty and cruel, super dry and very, very sandy.

And he would never let it-him-down.

Kankuro knew he was a mere grain of sand to night and horses and the desert. (He had his own pride, naturally, so you'd never hear him say that.)Still, the elders say a single grain of sand floating aimlessly could make a difference, could even vanquish an invading army.

Well. Lots and lots of those single grains of sand, anyway. They'd swirl around at high velocity and take on the form of Death. (The funnel-shaped kind.)

He was known to night and horses and the desert. Kankuro dreamed of this intro being uttered by his progeny. On glib desert nights, they'd gather around the fire and, with sinuous shadows augmenting voice and gesture, he would regale them with tales of his exploits, him the Kazekage's trusted brother and comrade. And they would listen, enthralled, shakened by such august company.

But first, Kankuro, that grain of sand known to night and horses and the desert, had to fly out of that dark hole invaginating his brain to protect his Kazekage.

His little brother.

If only he could will his muscles to contract.

If only the wind stirred, even a little.

082305 1227

1) The Wind Did Not Stir (Kankuro on Gaara / drabble - introspection / no pairing)

2) Fenestra (Gai on Lee / drabble - introspection / no pairing)

3) The Succubus (Sasuke / drabble / SasuSaku-ish)

4) Dandelion (Sakura / one-shot / SasuSaku)

5) Reverse Psychology (Sakura / one-shot / SasuSaku)

6) On Meeting the In-Laws and Other Causes of Wedding Night Jitters (Sasuke, Sakura / one-shot / SasuSaku)

7) The Exercise (Naruto, Hinata / one-shot / )

8) The Three Aspects Surface (Jiraiya & Tsunade / drabble / no pairing / AU - fantasy)

9) Songs to the Sun and Moon (Yondaime / drabble / no real pairing; hints of triangle / AU - fantasy-ish)

10) Pooh Bear On Happiness (Sasuke, Sakura / drabble / AU modern school)

11) His True Genius (Itachi / drabble / no pairing)

12) Waking (Gaara / one-shot / no pairing)

13) The Origin of the Good-Morning Reminder (Naruto, Hinata / drabble / NaruHina)

14) Drowning Fish (Tsunade / drabble / )

15) The Ramen Plan (Hinata / drabble)

16) His Harem (Shikamaru / drabble )

17) Closure (Sakura, Sasuke / one-shot / no pairing)

18) Shadowing Shadow (Shizune, Tsunade / drabble)

19) The Follower (random on Hinata, Neji / drabble)

20) Diffusivity (Team Kurenai / drabble )

21) Canine Loyalty (Naruto, Hinata, Kiba / drabble / NaruHina)

22) White Flags and Red Paint (Shikamaru, Ino / drabble / ShikaIno)

23) Return / Exchange (Sasuke, Sakura / one-shot )

24) It's Different (SasuSaku / one-shot)

25) Confectioners' Sugar (SasuSaku / one-shot)

26) On Bedmates and Drinking Partners (SasuSaku / one-shot)

27) It (sasusaku / drabble)

28) Expiation (Sasuke, Sakura / one-shot / AU - modern)

29) Thirty-one (and other milestones) (Sakura, Sasuke / one-shot / soft R?)

30) Superstition (Sasuke, Sakura, a few others / one-shot / R for lime and crude humor)


	2. Fenestra

1Disclaimer: As always, Naruto is the property of Masashi Kishimoto, etc. Borrowing for purposes of entertainment.

**Fenestra**

_August 26: Souls are like armed battalions_

1038 082605

Eyes, bright as sun-struck points in the burnished surface of a centurion's helmet, flashed at the master as he crested the hill. To him, it was as welcoming as dawn's light suffusing the east, a benediction and a charge both: be the mentor fate has ordained you to be. Be alive, rejoice in life, and share this joy.

It was not an easy thing to do, not for the master's pupil. Scarred and healed countless times, the whip-thin young man had been battered by battles both external and internal, physical and spiritual. He was no stranger to the dredges of human misery, had wallowed in it and had emerged triumphant more than once. It would seem that he was invincible.

But spears and lances break. Daggers and swords dull. The thickest armors have kinks and weaknesses that were easy to miss but dealt irreversibly fatal wounds when breached.

He was corporeal. He was mortal. He was flawed and augmented by the combination of body and soul, as was every human being that has graced and sullied this earth. And therein lay the greatness of this child---no, this man.

Despite the resilience of his body, despite the inhuman strength and speed that powered the blooming of the Lotus, the most formidable of his helm and arms was buried deep in his flesh, mayhaps, not there at all. The whereabout of will and spirit in the human body was debatable, but one thing was certain: the only thing preventing this man from swelling into immensity was his body, the temple that housed---and at times imprisoned---his great soul.

Was the pupil's spirit as inviolate as thus? Perhaps, not. Perhaps, his soul was already quilt-like with patched fenestration. He had been broken before, in more ways than one. But there was his teacher, wasn't there? And his teammates and his friends. His comrades and village. No matter how fierce war raged, whether exiled in distant nations or locked in desperate defense of ones own threshold, a soldier had a home to return to (the where was a minor detail) as long as that soldier was willing to believe in that home.

The master's thoughts were interrupted then. "Sensei!" the familiar voice bellowed. "Tenten-chan said you've been spending too much time with Kakashi-sensei. And that didn't you say dawdling isn't in our vocabulary? Well, I thought so too. Hurry up!"

Gai, the master, quitted his leisurely pace and with his warriors raced to another battlefield, the strong back of his youngest student, the pupil, their unwavering beacon.

11:42 082605


	3. The Succubus

1Disclaimer: As always, Naruto is the property of Masashi Kishimoto, etc. Borrowing for purposes of entertainment.

**The Succubus**

_August 29: Hatred is holy_

14:15 082905

The succubus broke its stifling embrace about his chest and coalesced with night, leaving lingering about him a chill that steeped deep into his soul. He could breath again, albeit in gasps, and he sucked in air liberally, occupied by nothing else. Muscles starting to relax from their cordon-thick tension, he let his limbs fall slack, vaguely aware of the sheen coating his body, of the icky sort of stickiness. His head cleared gradually, taking hold of the deceleration of his heartbeat into a placid walk.

Being Orochimaru's favorite had its perks. He had such things as privacy. Otherwise---

He hissed in sudden anger.

Damn her!

Wrathfully, he knocked aside the bedclothes and sat up in his futon.

She was the spawn of hell. An aberration in his system.

His aberration.

I will save you, her green eyes promised. Hypocrite! Underhanded in her ways, she was out to destroy him. She hounded him, even in thoughts, had unwittingly dealt the first blow----and second and third and fourth... It had to be deliberate. It had to be psychological warfare; she had always been brilliant in those sort of bookish things, must have learned to stock her arsenal with such wiles.

She just stood there when they met for the first time in years. Infinite sadness, perfectly performed, masked her bitter hatred of him. And all noble, she stood there to meet him, as if ready to take him in combat. She had grown then----who had nurtured her into this? Who?

One was inspired to transcend like that. To gain that much power----oh, yes, he felt it, latent then as it was, she was prepared to wield it against him----required a holy sort of drive. Like vengeance, yes, it was the only reason he even lived. That dobe he expected, of course, to surface somewhere along the way to interfere with his calling again. But her...

He was the avenger, his power came from justice and retribution. He had religiously thwarted all else that mattered, would have mattered: loyalty and friendship, the idealistic notions of morality. Oh, he knew right from wrong. He knew he had sold his soul for this. And for the first time in years, he was faltering again, shying from his destiny, even if it's just in form of tiny gnawing obsessions that plagued his consciousness.

Did she think he would ignore her, underestimate her? Well, he would hunt her down. She would pay. He would rend her, tear her apart. She could not mock him like that, could not dare challenge him and not expect him to rise in answer.

His brain, still shrouded by exhilaration, paused to digest that last thought. Fleetingly, images flickered in his mind, images of things he had forgotten, things he was programmed to forget until he hit some cursed aged and then again---

Rise in answer? He practically shrieked to himself inwardly. Rise in answer? What kind of a fucked-up pun was that?

And Sasuke viciously punched the mattress, fervently cursing the passage of time.

The avenger was corrupted.

21:58


	4. Dandelion

1Disclaimer: As always, Naruto is the property of Masashi Kishimoto, etc. Borrowing for purposes of entertainment.

**Dandelion**

_September 4: I wish_

19:07 090405

A lopsided yellow bloom growing from the crack in the cobblestone was easy to overlook. It was nothing more than a weed, an incidental life on the wayside that seemed able to pop out in the harshest of environments. The fragrance it bore was mild and grassy, at best, and its beauty was the commonplace sort. Sakura's eyes were drawn to it, for it was a pretty little thing that pleased her. Also, she was seeking for a place to safely land her gaze and the flower served.

Cooling breeze came swirling about her, flipping up her hair and singing in her ears, teasing her brown utilitarian skirt into billowing. The wind, though gentle to Sakura, was a thundering gale to the flimsy-stemmed little weed. The yellow petals succumbed to the tearing forces and was drawn away by the gust, and what was left was an odd looking fruit. That, too, was demolished by the breeze and tiny winged seeds skated up the air and vanished out of sight.

Sakura didn't bother to catch one. On both arms, she carried grocery bags.

They were nearing the end of the trip, anyway, the threshold of the old memory-haunted house that has been empty for more than three years. Finally, its sole owner was coming home, carrying with him new ghosts. The windows would all have to be opened, of course, Sakura thought. The rooms should all be aired out and bathed by sunlight to drive out the mustiness and infestation of various sorts of creatures.

Sasuke produced the key to his front door from his pocket—it gave Sakura a sharp jolt inside. Amazing, wasn't it? For him to have kept his key, or any of the other few possessions he carried with him in a drawstring plastic bag labeled "Konoha Hospital," after all that had happened, all that he—they—had gone through... it should have been out of sheer luck. He had never given up on home, then, Sakura dared to think, dared to hope.

Or perhaps, somebody had just given this key to him. It was his house and the village had nowhere else to stash a worn-out ex-missing nin that was recently reinstated.

It was dark inside. Sakura couldn't see anything beyond the shadows amassed at the half-open doorway. Sasuke turned to her then, looking at her directly with his dark eyes. There was hardly time for her to look away; she was trapped.

"How's the arm?"

And the leg, and the neck, and the backbone. Most of her limbs had been mangled a month or so ago. The Godaime worked her miracle and she was good as new now, just as he was. Well, for the most part. Sasuke still had a few kinks that still need straightening out, physiologically and otherwise.

"It's great," she replied

He motioned to the stuff she was carrying.

"Oh, yeah." She handed both bags to him. Earlier that day, she had taken the liberty to grab a few things for him at the nearby mini-mart. He was going home after a long absence, and there wasn't going to be anything edible in his kitchen, that's for sure. "They ran out of jasmine rice. I got another long-grain variety. Hope that's okay with you."

"Aa.."

He disappeared into the unlit interior, carrying both brown bags with him.

"How long till he's discharged?" came his voice from within. It was different from how she had imagined the past few years, much less sensuous and husky, much more ordinary and tired . Of course, she was a ditzy sort of dreamer. (In secret, that is. Outwardly, Sasuke was just Sasuke, the teammate that needed her rescuing, needed her to be strong this time around.) He was referring to Naruto, of course.

"Naruto'll need to stay a few more days for observation. He's getting cranky now, actually, and very, very bored." She chuckled fondly.

"I see." His voice was far-off.

"And don't worry about the visiting hours," she added. "I'll sneak you in if I'm around the hospital."

He didn't answer. The door remained ajar. There was just her outside with darkness peeking at her from the inside.

"See you then, Sasuke-kun," she finally said. "Don't forget your instructions."

With firm steps, she turned around and readied to walk away. Behind her, the door shut.

She breathed deeply.

Released it.

"Patient 3 down and safely home," she murmured.

Sighing profoundly, she walked on. She didn't get very far.

Startled, she turned back to the arm she left behind her. It was being deterred by a bandaged hand that was obviously masculine and obviously persistent. She looked up and came face to face with him. His eyes had ugly ruts running under them, making him look decidedly zombie-like, but he was still a very handsome man.

"Sakura."

"...oh?" For a split second, she was staring at him stupidly. But she was much better at this now, so it was only for a moment she looked like a simpering simpleton.

"Thank you."

To her absolute horror and disgust she could hear herself practically squealing. "Oh, oh, Sasuke-kun! Don't thank me. It was my pleasure. Hell yes, it was! Walking you home isn't exactly my dream date. But reality is so much better than daydreams, right? Right, Sasuke-kun?"

He was staring at her.

"I..." Her mouth refused to form any other word, refused to change the stricken expression carved on her face. His serious expression did not waver, but his eyes showed a glimmer of... confusion?

"I said thank you for walking me home," he said, a trace of impatience in his voice. Relinquishing her hand, he turned and began walking to his house. "Tomorrow night," he added without turning back. "Ward 8."

"...yeah," she managed.

Sakura gazed after his disappearing back, and let out an explosive breath after the door shut behind him. Kami-sama, but that gave her quite a turn. It's been so long that she only realized now she wasn't saying all those pathetic things about daydreams and stuff, after all—not aloud, anyway. She cringed. And here she was thinking she had outgrown those things.

Then, she laughed stupidly, a deep-reaching sort of laugh that dug deep into her guts and rattled her bones from toe to skull. After she laughed to her heart's content, she sighed and went on her way. Barely had she walked a block when she was waylaid again, this time by a minuscule white tuft growing from a lone seed that landed on the tip of her nose. With two fingers, she deftly caught it and cupped it in her hands. She used to catch these things as a little girl, she remembered, and wish on them. Half-turning, she gazed back at the Uchiha estate.

Sasuke-kun was back, and so was Inner Sakura. Everything was okay right now. It wasn't perfect, but it was somehow just right.

Sakura blew at the tufted dandelion seed and watched it flutter up to the blithe morning sun and out of sight.

20:49


	5. Reverse Psychology

1Disclaimer: As always, Naruto is the property of Masashi Kishimoto, etc. Borrowing for purposes of entertainment.

**Reverse Psychology**

_September 9: The new exotic (unposted)_

started: 11:32 090905

Konohagakure no sato, as with every other place, had its own mysteries. One of those mysteries involved the visage of the White Fang's sole child, Hatake Kakashi. Nobody could ever quite attest to seeing the Copy Ninja's face----nobody living, at least. Another mystery was regarding the parentage of Naruto, the almost-surely-many-people-fear-definitely-soon-to-be incumbent Rokudaime Hokage. The Yondaime couldn't have just plucked him out of nowhere to seal in the Kyuubi in his navel. Who gave birth the night the Yondaime Hokage died? Who was Naruto's mother? And another mystery, strangely related yet again to the old Team 7, was the marriage of Uchiha Sasuke to Haruno Sakura.

There two minds on the issue: one, Sasuke wasn't worthy of Sakura, and two, Sakura wasn't worthy of Sasuke. The debate on worth aside, the marriage was made known one day by the wind's whisper (whoo whoo whoo), which steadily grew louder and persistent (WHOA WHOA WHOA), and eventually lambasted the whole village like a tornado(**WHA! WHA! WHA!**). There was not a semblance of wooing, no scandalously gushy proposal. One day, somebody made an offhand remark about Sakura not taking her usual path home, and then suddenly everybody noticed that, as a matter of fact, she wasn't leaving from the Haruno home every morning either.

The "close, personal friends" of the two were blase about the whole business. Oh, the cake was freaking awesome, Naruto said. Kakashi chuckled himself breathless. The Hyuugas sniffed impatiently, as if to say everybody _knew_, so why ask? The Godaime praised the fine sake, and Jiraiya-sama the couturiere. Shikamaru the strategist sighed pityingly. Ino fainted. Chouji recited the menu. Konomaharu, honorable grandson, transformed into a physically embellished Sakura wearing her wedding kimono. Rock Lee and Maito Gai broke down into tears of commiserating joy. Kiba howled his—well, you get the idea.

The more logical people, however, immediately came upon an answer: Sasuke needed a wife to preserve his line, and Sakura was probably the only woman the asocial jounin knew enough to even consider marrying. Upon hearing this theory, Sakura grudgingly conceded that the statement was true. She _was_ practically the only female Sasuke was on speaking terms with.

Of course, based on her own experience with the reticent ninja, she knew Sasuke didn't _consistently_ base his decisions on logic. Au contraire, the mednin thought smugly, many of Sasuke's major decisions in life were actually governed by powerful, long-lasting emotions. (For example, defecting from Konohagakure no Sato fifteen years ago.)

Outwardly, Sasuke was his same distant self. They walked in the streets nearly a foot a part. He very rarely touched her, and only spoke to her of the most rudimentary of issues. He barely even looked at her. Sakura took it all in stride, and few people were able to gather enough guts to demand why she let herself be treated so atrociously.

Inner Sakura often giggled at seeing the sheer effort those worried faces belied just to keep mum. She knew it was a little mean; they were only worried for her. Though the Sasuke at home was quite different, it was hard to offer explanations. Telling people the lone Uchiha liked coming up behind her to silently cuddle her or nuzzle her neck would be met with pitying doubt. Describing the Avenger as being decidedly affectionate and puppy-like in attention giving/seeking would probably receive hoots of laughter. (Not to mention the said man would most likely go up in flames upon hearing such stories about his private life.)

Sasuke probably knew of his reputation as a cold bastard, and he became bolder in his... well, his passes. He began playing with her, teasing her even outside the house, as long as he was sure nobody was looking. In an empty lounge in the mission assignment center, for example, he would close their distance with a rough pull, hold her to him from behind with steel grip, and nibble on an earlobe surreptitiously. A tiny creak of a footstep from a room away, and suddenly he would be on the other side of the room, acting as if Sakura didn't even exist.

Okay, so it irritated her. (Why, yes, it was super embarrassing to be seen hyperventilating over a pile of musty old medical records.) Sakura, however, bless her devious mind, had certain ideas on how to remedy the problem.

She turned it into a game of sorts, a competition between husband and wife on who dared to stay in the dangerous position the longest, who dared move away last. At first, she had a winning streak, reminding the sharingan wielder of the hideous strength hidden in her slim arms as she held him to her with an arm or lips (or teeth or tongue) mere slivers of a second before somebody came into the room, impishly smirking his smirk as she leapt away. She never mentioned it, though, not even in the privacy of their home.

Sasuke has always been a little too competitive for his own good. Within a month, he was winning the unspoken game. Suddenly, she was pulling away, cheeks reddened, when a battalion of genins were on the verge of bursting into a scroll room. Suddenly, he was the one who refused to let go when she mumbled in warning about a group of apprentice mednins about to come back from lunch break.

One day, he didn't pull away at all.

It was at Kakashi's pad. They were having a mini-reuninon----something about somebody's pet's birthday. Naruto and the sensei had just stepped out to gather victuals (aka greasy packages from the nearby fast-food store), when Sasuke, in his usual offhand manner, began a light, lingering, and perfectly wholesome little make-out session.

Apparently, Naruto didn't think it light, lingering, or perfectly wholesome. He shrieked bloody murder at the sight of his two old team mates kissing in the kitchen (or in his more graphic terms, "sucking each others guts out in public, dammit!")

Kakashi did his best to comfort the poor, disturbed blond.

"I'm missing something here," Naruto later growled as he sulked over a barely-touched bowl of take-out ramen.

"I'm not," drawled the silver-haired bachelor, flipping through an old volume of the Icha Icha series. "Once you've watched a few, it's fairly predictable what they do. Or rather, what they'd do next. And why."

"You're a pervert," the other accused.

"A very observant pervert," the unrepentant man corrected.

Seemingly deaf to the discussion in front of him, Sasuke was smirking through the kiss that he absently bestowed on his wife's cheek.

Sakura, meanwhile, was having a hell of a time keeping a smirk off her face as she studiously chewed on a mouthful of yakisoba, girlishly bashful and gleefully triumphant.

September 11, 2005 (9:09pm)


	6. On Meeting InLaws and other

1Disclaimer: As always, Naruto is the property of Masashi Kishimoto, etc. Borrowing for purposes of entertainment.

**On Meeting In-Laws and Other Causes of Wedding Night Jitters**

_September 24: Almost gothic_

In a land called Fire, there was a village named after the tree's most numerous attribute. True enough, the aforementioned village was concealed by the thickness of the forests that took root within, about, and beyond its borders. These ancient trees were slow to grow, as if spending long hours of the day ruminating on profound subjects, sagacious musings on the truths of life often overlooked by the more passionate and more hotheaded human beings; but steady was this growth and security they gave the village, for few sane forces dared mount assaults against their towering walls lest the beasts that lurked about the leafy sentinels devour their mortal numbers. The verdant village flourished and acquired strength that demanded respect, and its ninja inhabitants were keen and unmatched far and wide.

As with any centers of human civilization, however, disasters struck and wreaked havoc on the wooden metropolis. (Truly, though 'village' was appended upon its name, the slapdash arrangement of various buildings of either residential or commercial purpose, plazas, streets, farms, and other such edifices, could be called nothing else but a city.) The people remained stalwart and unyielding, subsisting upon hope and love and the inexplicable nature of such abstract terms despite the unkind fates that besieged one generation after another, for their brilliant leaders guided them well through turbulent times with their clear vision and selfless sacrifices. A nine-tailed demon fox, a necrophiliac snake-summoning traitor, and a clique of misguided power-hungry warmongers now things of the past, peace once again thrived in Konohagakure no sato.

Life, as always, went on, and the motions of human evolution strutted on in its speed of tortoises. Man joined with woman to replenish the population with their offspring, and they gathered sustenance from benevolent Nature, the mother of all. The sands of time flowed and with it crying infants became irrepressible toddlers; toddlers became inquisitive children, children became insecure adolescents, adolescents became produtive adults, and adults dwindled serenely into the twilight of their years.

Our tale started when a man of twenty and one autumns and a woman of twenty and one springs were wedded one mild winter morning. They had endured long hardships before this happy day had come to pass and great was their joy now that they were pledged to keep the other's happiness and health. Taking leave from their multitude of family and well-loved friends, they walked the path that led to their future, and though it was a little dusty from lack of rain, this path was straight and sure and brought them speedily to the young man's ancestral home.

For a moment the young woman was filled with fleeting trepidation. Ah, but the said house, looming and beautiful in its dark sullenness, was rumored to be infested with the spirits of those long dead. She feared the story so, for the approval of her kinsmen by marriage was foremost in her mind. Also among her worries was the clan's opinion of their remaining seed. She was, after all, his chosen partner in resurrecting the clan (of course, that was not to be taken literally, or so she hoped.) Their remaining seed had not always had an admirable life, had not consistently taken the righteous roads. She wondered if his dead family were of the same stand as she in disapproval of his vindictive odyssey (well, she had forgiven him and accepted even his most grievous deeds with all her heart so it was no issue to her, his past); he did abandon village and friendship and everything else sacred to seek power from the aforementioned snake-summoning necrophiliac for vengeance's sake and the object of his retribution was his wayward brother who years before had turned his genius talents upon his unsuspecting clan and decimated each member, excepting his promising younger brother, her husband, whose psychology had been deeply distorted by the traumatic experience.

No, she was not fond of possibly the most powerful forebear of Uchiha, the one named after that ungainly animal, the weasel.

Her husband held her hand as they walked wordlessly past the threshold and into the first room.

"This was where I found my parents dead with my brother standing over them," he murmured in an almost reverent tone.

She nodded solemnly, only glad that there was no trace of hatred dripping from his words.

The hall they entered into next was dark and awash with shadows. (For the life of her, she could not form a process in her mind on how such shadows came into being with such strange and awesome shapes; there was no light but the one floating in from the previous room and no furniture present with such figures.) Her beloved must have detected the stirring of nervousness in her breast, and he squeezed the slim hand he held in his. She directed a bright smile at him, beaming with the complacent bliss that flooded her being, and he smiled back at her a ghost of a smile.

Next they climbed up to the second floor, bringing themselves much nearer to their endmost goal that night. The stairway creaked and croaked at each step they made, sending shivers of unholy fear down her spine. They unerringly reminded her of the dying, and being as she was a woman both of medicine and of assassination, well-versed in the final stages of a human being's demise, be it an event she brought about or failed to stop, she was very familiar to this chilling sound. Her companion seemed unaffected and she took heart in his steady bearing, feigning a nonchalance to hide her escalating terror. (The Uchiha ghosts were lurking behind her, she just knew it, nipping at her heels with their invisible little teeth with relish. Oh, would they have fun with the newest member of their family! Sasuke was a serious child; he wouldn't have been entertained by chains clanking or piteous late-night moaning. She, however, was new and very much fair game in their haunting expeditions.)

Finally, they reached the bedroom, and her husband (what a thrill even thinking the term brought her!) switched on the electric lights. The room was illuminated by the healthy glow of incandescent yellow, and basking under that warmth, she forgot all the anxieties that hounded her thoughts. The Uchiha ghosts were naught but figments of overactive minds of misinformed, impressionable children. Sasuke had spent years haunting his domicile alone, but that was about to change very soon. She was there now and then more will come in the future... who knew?

Tentatively, he helped her untie the complicated mass of her obi. Then into the bathroom, she shyly went, to prepare for sleep and other such indulgences. Her clothes already were neatly arranged in the closet, side by side with his garments. She changed into her bedclothes, a flimsy material that boasted of her slender girlish figure and whispered constantly against her body till her skin underneath was sensitized and rendered a healthy rosy flush.

When she came out, he was already changed in his sleeping attire and was tucked in bed with the thick covers hugging him to his neck. Envious of the warmth he must be relishing, she hopped into bed as well.

As she did so, a terrible thing happened.

The lights shut off by themselves.

And she screamed with absolute terror. The Uchiha ghosts! They were real and they were coming for her! Oh, trust them to be so dramatic and theatrical with their entrance. Hideous, hideous, they would crawl from their graves to meet their sole survivor's bride. Be it in welcome or be it in vindictive rage, she would not be able to stand such a confrontation. Surely the disturbing meeting would effectively rend her from sanity. Surely she would lose her mind! And then what of her poor husband? He would be wife to a gibbering mindless creature. And oh, oh, oh, she was so scared! And she shut her eyes and curled up right there were she had been standing, hoping it would go quickly, hoping it was done _now_.

A cold wind came from nowhere and whipped past her, blowing her rose-tinted hair aside to slither past her neck and ears insidiously. Up her spine came trickling that prickly sensation that attested to the presence of the paranormal. They were coming! They really were. And they were very, very near her now...

"Sakura."

Great was her fear when she heard her name spoken thus. What would their pronouncement bring? Would they say, welcome, dear child, you are now one of us: dead. And they would cackle upon the fact that she had died from sheer fright—wasn't that just absolutely ridiculous and unspeakably pathetic!

"Sakura, what are you doing?"

Sak—what? What was she doing? Well, she was much preoccupied with cowering in fright, thank you very much. Now, if they would just get on with the ripping her sanity to pieces part then—

"I forgot to pay the electric company."

She opened her eyes to darkness. Vaguely, she could make out Sasuke peering at her from the foot of their bed.

"W-what did you say?" she asked.

"I said all those wedding preparations made me forget to pay for electricity," he repeated rather testily. "Sorry," he added in a mumble.

"Oh." Sakura sat up, giddy with relief. "Oh, don't be sorry for anything, Sasuke-kun. Gosh."

"Okay then..." Her husband said. "Well...?"

"Well, what?" She was too exhilarated by her bout of silliness to do anything more than stand around grinning.

Sasuke grumbled something.

"Oh. Oh yes."Sakura became nervous again at that point, but for an entirely different reason. Shaking from her toes to her pink hair, she padded silently to the side of the bed and sneaked in under the covers. Rather promptly, she forgot about vindictive ghosts, gothic romance novels, and other such silliness the rest of the night.

Until, that is, breakfast the next morning, when Sasuke casually mentioned that his mother "likes" how Sakura prepared the miso.

23:24


	7. The Exercise

1Disclaimer: As always, Naruto is the property of Masashi Kishimoto, etc. Borrowing for purposes of entertainment.

**The Exercise**

_September 22 / The observed observer_

092205 22:27

Day-offs were supposed to be awesome days. Ninja, of course, was his way of life, but, hey, everybody needed rest. The not-so-awesome thing about day-offs was, sometimes, everybody else was working. Take for example Iruka-sensei. The twenty-nine year old teacher was stuck in the Academy all day. In between lectures and demonstrations, he graded homework and test papers. During the recesses and breaks, he was busy breaking up fights, controlling bullies, or tutoring lagging students. Oh, Naruto knew his routine; once, the vessel of the Kyuubi volunteered to assist a class out of sheer boredom. It was interesting, actually. Naruto had enjoyed it immensely, but Iruka-sensei... Well, he wasn't exactly thrilled when Naruto begged to help with the demo on henge no jutsu this morning.

"Why don't you explore the rest of the village, Naruto?" the older man suggested. "I'm sure other parts of the community could benefit from your help."

The seventeen year-old shrugged. "Well, Old man Omi's going to be fixing the drain pipes at the women's ba—"

"On second thought," Iruka interrupted, red face distorted into a glare. "I've thought of something you can do."

"See," the blond muttered. "That's exactly what everybody thinks: I'm always up to something."

"Stop denying it!"

"Okay, okay. Geeze, sensei... It's like you've never peeped your whole life."

"W-what?" Iruka sputtered indignantly. "I don't _peep_!"

"Right, sensei. Hey, can I borrow Pervy-senin's new release? Kakashi-sensei has his copy and you read faster than him, anyway. But, dude, I filched it for a few minutes yesterday and page 99 was, like, whoa! Is that even possible? Can a person really put his—"

"What I have for you to do doesn't have anything to do with that!"

Well, in Naruto's honest opinion, it was exactly about _tha_t. A person didn't go slinking around to spy on women for no particular reason. And it was on Hinata, of all people.

Actually, it was out of pure chance Hinata came to be his his "subject" in Iruka's challenge. "Go out and sit in front of the school," he had instructed. "Pick out somebody from the crowd whom you know a little. Choose someone you're not really that close with and then follow that person around the whole day. You'd be surprised at what you learn. And you get to practice a few of your ninja basics."

Sure enough, there was Hinata walking past leisurely. She didn't appear to see him, preoccupied with the stories of a very young child. Curiously, Naruto did as Iruka said and followed her.

Hinata brought the child to a small house in the eastern part of the village. It was what appeared to be a group home. The child was an orphan.

Naruto felt a little odd. He had spend the first few years of his life in a place similar to that rickety wooden house. Nobody had been quite nice enough to visit him and bring him to other places, the way Hinata befriended this child. Apparently, the Hyuuga girl frequented the place as she was greeted by an enthusiastic chorus of, "Hinata-sama!" The quiet girl seemed uneasy with their use of the honorific, but she smiled and waved back at them. The little seven-year-old who was with her, a dark-haired waif with a dimpled smile, pulled her down for a hug then merrily went on his way with his house mates.

Next, Hinata went to Kiba's house. Naruto followed, of course, and saw Kiba's sister, a veterinarian, checking up various pets and familiars. Hinata was helping out there, barely speaking, as usual. Kiba wasn't there.

Then, she was at Shino's place. Naruto wasn't really sure what Hinata did at Shino's house. It involved a big wide-brimmed hat, netting that covered her face, a body suit of sorts that left no part of her skin exposed, and, of course, bees. Shino wasn't there, either. Hinata seemed very at home at that place, though. Her companions, probably Mrs Aburame and another relative, were as silent as the Gentle Fist user.

Finally, Naruto saw that she was headed home. Well, he thought she was headed home until she turned around and walked back the way she came.

Wait. She was turning around again. What was Hinata doing? Naruto thought with a frown. It seemed like she couldn't make up her mind...

Shit.

Hinata wasn't there anymore. He couldn't understand how he managed to lose a full-grown woma—what the sort of screwed up ninja was he, anyway?

Indeed, Hinata was nowhere in sight. Naruto abandoned his shadowed alley and plunged into the crowded street Hinata had been standing at a while ago. She wasn't there now. Or anywhere else he could see, for that matter. She disappeared. Iruka's challenge hadn't been completed yet. Oh, screw Iruka-sensei's challenge. Naruto was embarrassing. He wasn't even on a stake out and his target wasn't even trying to hide.

Wait.

She was going home, wasn't she? Maybe she took a shortcut to the Hyuuga mansion. Well, he knew all of those shortcuts naturally, but there wasn't one that was really nearby that she'd actually reach by just flitting off and—

"Um."

Maybe he should start tracking her footsteps, but sheesh, a gazillion people just passed through the damned side street...

"N-Naruto-kun?"

That sounded really like Hinata.

"Naruto-kun?" she repeated.

Damn it.

"H-Hinata!" he greeted brightly, as he turned around. "What can I do for you?" Did he sound like he was trying so hard to remain natural? Well, shit.

"Um, I...I h-have a question." Then her voice died away to mumbles and he didn't hear her question.

Well, Naruto wasn't really dying to know what her question was, but he did ask her all the same. "Ah, I er, what was your question, Hinata-chan? I didn't hear the last part." He was sweating profusely now. "Sorry, sorry! It's not your fault. Don't worry about it."

"I-I know that. I just hoped you don't get offended, I said."

"Oh, pssh." The blond bravely waved for her to continue. "Why would I get offended?"

"Okay." Hinata swallowed. "I just thought you needed something because I thought you were following. I was wrong, so s-sorry for the trouble." She bowed and was about to leave.

"I..." Naruto caught her arm, then grinned sheepishly. "Er, I was. Following you I mean. Sorry, I was bored and well... Iruka-sensei had this stupid idea and uh, sorry."

Hinata smiled. "I'm sorry I disappeared, Naruto-kun. I didn't realize you had a project underway."

Yes, yes, she disappeared on him. Wasn't he embarrassing? Naruto wanted to groan. "Er, what were you doing at Shino's place?" he suddenly blurted out.

Hinata blinked. "I-I was helping Shino's mother with the bees. I mean, take care of them."

"Ahaha...Sorry I asked," he said wretchedly. "That was rude."

"Uhm, Naruto-kun?" She shook her head. "W-we've been exchanging apologies through out our, uh, our conversation. I think I'm getting tired of it."

"Me, too. Yeah. Ahahaha..." He scratched his head. "So... You always do that? I mean take care of bees?"

"I suppose so. It's usually Shino's responsibility on Wednesdays, b-but he has, ah, a mission, though."

"And Kiba's sister. You help her out?"

"When I have the chance. Kiba helps her when he's around and she really appreciates extra hands around."

"Cool. You're like really useful in the community, huh? Not like me."

"I-I think you are too. Weren't you helping out at the Academy? And at the engineer's office?"

Naruto actually blushed. "Never mind that. What about the orphanage? You volunteer there?"

"Ah, that's Kurenai-sensei's charge. T-the little boy was the son of an old comrades of hers who died in action and she watches out for him. Sensei will be out of town for quite some time. H-he's a nice boy."

"I see."

There was a brief awkward silence.

"W-well then," Hinata began. "I should go, N-Naruto-kun."

"Hey, wait." Naruto scratched an arm. "I know you've been busy all day and all that, but I was wondering if you wanna go get ramen with me. I mean, if you're still bored you know... At least we can be bored together?"

He was an idiot. He made idiotic suggestions that weirded people out. Hinata stood there for a moment, chewing on a lip. Naruto winced in anticipation of her answer.

"Well, I- I am not bored right now," she said.

"Oh." For some reason, that disappointed him.

"But I am hungry."

"Cool! That's fine with me. Let's get ramen at Ichiraku's then! I, uh, unless you wanna get something else..."

"Ramen would be fine," she said with a smile.

Naruto grinned back at her. "Let's go then. I bet Ichiraku's gonna fill up soon, we better beat the crowd, huh?"

What do you know? Iruka-sensei's idea wasn't that stupid after all.

22: 36 092605

(AN: Hinata seems off. Hmm...)


	8. The Three Aspects Surface AU

1Disclaimer: As always, Naruto is the property of Masashi Kishimoto, etc. Borrowing for purposes of entertainment.

**The Three Aspects Surface**

_October 1: A screaming comes across the sky (Alternate Universe)_

Thunderstorms were not uncommon in the towers of the Leaf Village. Nonetheless, the blinding streaks that repeatedly tore the skies and the titanic ripping sounds that seemed almost to hover in their overwhelming number and overlapping sequence were seen as ominous omens by the inhabitants of the stronghold of sorcery. Ducking past an archway choked by malevolent vines, the Hermit shivered.

He had come to the citadel to converse with the Healer. She must know what the omens meant, why the skies raged this night so implacably. She must know what measures they must now take to preserve Creation from impending chaos.

The Healer was lodged in the highest spire's topmost chamber. Among the clouds, she could collect threads of power and knowledge. From there, she wove the movements of the land's sorcerers, affecting the affairs of all the corners of the earth. The Hermit's steps were swift as he ascended the dizzying batches of spiraling staircases, and before long, he found himself before a bolted door of aged oak.

It opened by itself to admit him.

"What has happened?" the white-haired man rumbled. He knew from the blond woman's expression that it was not favorable tidings he would have tonight. "The Robed Superiors, the most highly trained of our mages, have been deployed. I have seen them."

"That is part of the problem," the woman said with a sigh. "But that is merely an effect of a cataclysmic event that has come to pass this night."

"What? Is it the auguries?"

"Yes. The One Who Destroys has gone to the Necromancer. The One Who Preserves has failed to stop him, and the One Who Creates has gone to meet the One Who Destroys in their final reckoning."

"Naruto will be unable to stop Uchiha's child. The end has began. Their struggle shall rend the world. The cycle shall repeat yet again."

Tsunade shook her head. "Not if The One Who Preserves rises to embrace her destiny. She shall be the deciding factor; without her, the One Who Destroys cannot become the One Who Restores and Sasuke would be lost to the Necromancer. The Three Aspects must regain the balance among their powers in this generation. The gods have declared thus."

Jiraiya was silent for a few moments. Then... "You will take the girl Sakura under your tutelage?"

"It will be her choice to answer her calling. She will seek me out."

"Then I shall wait for Naruto seek my guidance as well. Their emotional ties as mortals... complicates the situation. They must realize by themselves that there are greater things in motion than things like vengeance or their sundered friendship."

"Shall the Necromancer teach what is necessary to Sasuke?"

"Fate shall impel him. Then, the three shall meet and the two must turn Sasuke from the One Who Destroys into the One Who Restores."

"And if they fail?"

"We were once embodied by the Three Aspects ourselves. We will not allow them to fail."

The Healer and the Hermit were silent for a long while, musing on the past and contemplating the future. Outside, the heavens continued to rage till their voices coalesced into a single sustained scream.

1:02


	9. Songs to the Sun and Moon AU

1Disclaimer: As always, Naruto is the property of Masashi Kishimoto, etc. Borrowing for purposes of entertainment.

**Songs to the Sun and Moon**

_October 12: Into the valley of dying stars_ (Alternate Universe)

The Yondaime came to visit the widow when the moon was in the midst of waxing to its heavy roundness or waning to its invisible husk, never when it was full or new. He would wistfully return the lopsided smile of the night goddess and venture into an old friend's hut, jealously swathed by the hulking shadows and the fecund jungle.

She would greet him with a solemn nod at the doorway, meeting his blue gaze, opaline in the moonlight. She knew the reasons for his visits carved into his soul like serrated blades of loyalty and betrayal entwined. But as it was always unspoken, though the longing in his eyes betrayed him in his weaker moments, she allowed his presence, reveled in it. Not out of spite, mind, but because the ways and gestures, the words and spirit, of her beloved had stained his entire being and eagerly she grasped the ghosts of her husband in his closest friend, not even jealous that the Leaf ninja was haunted more avidly than she was by the dead man.

She knew he would join her husband soon; she would not survive the birthing. The drums in her head pounded in time with the falling of sand in her incorporeal timepiece, counting the days she had left to walk the earth. And walk the earth she did, wandering among the silent leafy sentinels that towered over her, conversing with the moon as she grew and shrunk each passing night. Her swollen feet would find relief in the tinkling brook that ran beside her house, and she would pass the days there and sit at its banks on the evenings. When he came bearing victuals only found in the settlements of men, he would massage her feet with firm even strokes, coaxing the accumulated lymph to rejoin with her blood.

She also knew that this man, not only because he loved his dead friend and loved the widow left behind, would care for the son she would soon leave behind. The child she carried in her womb was a boy, the moon told her, and this leader of men who visited her only when it was dark would raise him among the kin of her husband. In gratitude, she wished for her son to echo the visage of this man who would become the only father the boy would know. She would beg for the Yondaime to let her take her secrets to the grave, to seal his in his mouth so long as he lived.

Tonight, the moon was a sliver in the sky, but she knew he would not come. The ravages of the spirit beast came to her ears whenever the winds sang their dirges for the children of the Leaf. The Yondaime was fighting among his people----her people, too, once, a lifetime ago----and surely the nine-tailed fox would be banished from this world even before the birthing started and her son would only learn of the tragedies the demon brought from the stories that would celebrate the bravery of the Yondaime Hokage. The stars were still pale tonight, however, a multitude of drying tears. On moonless nights, they ruled the skies, able to flaunt their pale ethereal beauties without being dwarfed by the night goddess. And tonight, the moon was barely there, yet weren't the stars shining a little too weakly?

She frowned, but shook away the secret fears. Instead, she thought of the boy she would soon birth, stroking her belly and feeling his excited response to her tender touch. The moon lobbied so hard for this child, but it was to the sun she planned to pledge him. The boy would have the eyes of clear skies and the disposition of the morning god.

The mountain of regrets loomed at the base of her throat, but she reached within and balled it up firmly, thrusting it as final offering to the cloaked moon. Then, she waited for the red of dawn's first rays, waited till she could sing her child's name, voice ringing with deep-seated joy.

Naruto, she would sing.

end 0936 101205

Notes:

this drabble came out because...

-I've always been intrigued by Naruto's parentage

-I hate s /love /s the generational parallelism in the series (thus the SasuSakuNaru-ish / ObitoRinKakashi-ish love triangle hints or whatever you want to call it)

-I just finished reading "The Red Tent" by Anita Diamant and her writing style sang throbbingly.


	10. Pooh Bear On Happiness AU

1Disclaimer: As always, Naruto is the property of Masashi Kishimoto, etc. Borrowing for purposes of entertainment.

**Pooh Bear On Happiness**

_October 18: Tao_ (Alternate Universe)

Dark, quiet, and cool as the underground, what else was the library for but to nap in after late lunches? Dozing outside, whether under a midday sun or an icy drizzle was his usual daily fare, but there was just too much noise out there right now. The university grounds was teeming with both current and prospective students, many of whom were sunning themselves on the sprawling lawns, enjoying the beginnings of spring, that sort of sentimental shit. Too much stimuli and the impatience would materialize into a leaden knot in his chest and he would be imbalanced the rest of the day, simmering with a dull rage that throbbed in time with his breathing.

Light footsteps roused him from his light sleep. He blinked up at the girl with her strange hair—in the dim corner of the 3rd floor, she was all hair, the ghosting luminescence of a pink-dyed duck. She sat down without waiting for the invitation he wasn't going to offer.

"Hey there." Hushed. Like the voices in his nightmares.

He straightened, removing his head from the musty volume lying open on the table.

"How've you been, Sasuke?"

Petty pleasantries. The usual. "Fine," he said.

"That's good." She finished lining her books across his stack, neatly setting up her laptop in front of her. "Naruto can't come. He's at the eastern gunnery. Some competition. I forget."

"Aa." He handed her his share of work.

A murmured thanks, then there was nothing but the clack of the keyboard and her light breathing. He closed his eyes.

He floated in between sleep and wakefulness. He couldn't quite reach the oblivion of the former, for there was a sensation of unguardedness he could feel at the base of his skull. She was there, he could feel her, a palpable weakness in his well-controlled world. An aneurysm, yes. She had been raving about aneurysm the last meeting they had. She had defined it as a weakness in the wall of a blood vessel, if bad enough a ticking time bomb, instantly deadly when it ruptured like an overstretched balloon. She had seen a man turn white as rice in the course of a few seconds, as his aorta burst and dumped blood into his belly. Her teacher had saved the patient, of course—that's why she was raving.

Sakura usually talked about her teacher. Or patients. Or cadavers. Or dreams.

Sakura was strange. Eccentric.

"Ah, Sasuke?"

His chin lodged in the groove of the book's binding, he peered at her disinterestedly from under his brows.

"The semester's almost over and all. After this project, I don't think we three'll see much of each other again."

That was true. Obviously, the ANBU Academy had things planned in advance for Haruno Sakura. She was going to be a lab rat. Uzumaki Naruto was slated for more training on international diplomacy (also called espionage in some circles) under the famous Jiraiya. Uchiha Sasuke... he wasn't going anywhere special. He was headed for field work, and he was satisfied with that. He'd learn to hunt men with practice. Practice and actual experience, not sitting around bullshitting professors about text-book criminal cases. He would hunt that man.

"I wanted to give you something. Call it a remembrance of sorts."

"...Aa."

She handed him a pocketbook, a slender thing that would be a relief to read after the highfalutin junk he'd been putting up with the last few years. It had cartoons on the cover. He recognized the honey-colored creature traipsing about a forest scene.

"Winnie the Pooh?" Incredulity manifested itself in his cool appraisal of her gift.

She nodded earnestly. "A.A. Milne. I thought it might help you with your impatience issues."

He frowned. Impatience issues? He never told her anything about 'impatience issues.' In fact, he never told her much of anything, though of course they went to Konoha High together and had known each other a long time; there were about nine from their graduating class to go into ANBU Academy. He never showed impatience either. People often complained he was too cold-blooded, too aloof, too bland. Even to his face sometimes.

"It's a very good read," she said sagely. "Going with the flow. Appreciating life. Finding the way. A sort of Tao Te Ching-ish manual."

Tao Te Ching? So she was lobbying for Taoism now? Slightly bewildered, Sasuke tucked the book into his backpack. "You're giving Naruto one of these?"

"Nah. I got him those Dragonball DVDs he's been bugging people for."

"...Aa."

"Well... That's it then," she said. "I will email you two the copies of the draft. See you in class?"

"Aa."

"Take care then." She looked at him.

"Yes," he finally said.

Satisfied, she started to gather her things.

Sakura was a strange girl, he thought as he watched her leave.

He was watching her ass, more precisely. So what?

Belatedly, he remembered the manners his late mother had inculcated in him as a child. He called his thanks after her.

She turned to beam a smile at him, then disappeared.

He went back to napping.

23:01


	11. His True Genius

1Disclaimer: As always, Naruto is the property of Masashi Kishimoto, etc. Borrowing for purposes of entertainment.

**His True Genius**

_November 2: Life imitating art imitating life_

Interesting, how the MP commander's first born does his blade work. As with the apples and oranges he eats for snacks at home, he slices through other ninjas' bowels very concisely. Take for example that grapefruit he halved for his mother just now. So fine was his movement that the severed fibers were as good as undamaged, doubtless will seamlessly conjoin together if so placed side by side, the countless cells aligning to each other perfectly.

Bowels, of course, are a different matter. The perfection doesn't last long, for gravity distorts balance with its forceful downward pull, affecting the interaction of spaces and colors. The human body undergoes a violent change in a split second, the body erupting to its new pieces, the mind sluggishly registering the sudden disjointedness.

Oh, will then come the startled thought from the involved party, that was death? Such a mild mannered young person.

Gentle or rough, mild or wild, it always ends with a mess. No amount of preciseness or cleanliness can alter the nature of human bodies. Skin keeps things in, even as it keeps things out, and its contents do fall out once skin is breached. When frames are broken, edifices falls. When dykes fail, deluges splash and soak the earth.

But nature is so very pretty, anyway. (Even the end of the world promises to be a stupendous show of lights, sounds, and other special effects.) The mess can always be appreciated as it is created, after it is created. Something as minuscule as a droplet of blood, a dollop of gray squishy brain tissue, follows perfect arcs as it travels air. Guts tangle together, but it is the nature of guts to be tangled so. And as said, doesn't nature have a way of always being pretty, anyway?

Some might deign to call a smudge on the floor simply that: a smudge on the floor. More appreciative, more perceptive people can recognize the masterpiece of a boy genius at one glance. The latter himself only peers at his canvas for a few moments, then leaves it be.

Whether or not he appreciates his own efforts, nobody can ever really tell when it comes to Uchiha Itachi-kun.

103105 19:45 more like it.


	12. Waking

1Disclaimer: As always, Naruto is the property of Masashi Kishimoto, etc. Borrowing for purposes of entertainment.

**Waking**

_December 1: E como vivo? (And how do I live?)_

In the familiar arid nothingness of the desert, he had opened his eyes to an interesting tableau; to the same, he had gradually, only half-willingly, withdrawn his consciousness from, had let darkness come down upon softly, like velvet curtains of ebon shade gently falling to close the first act. Eight hours later, he awoke to realize he had been asleep—a sleep that was deep and natural and totally devoid of dreams. It was strange and refreshing. He could have soaked in that carefree world that straddled life and death for all eternity, could have floated away blissfully (and since when had he been acquainted with the such a word?) in that incorporeal river of oblivion. But he was anchored to life and to certain responsibilities; amazingly, the anchor was no shackle, was a connection he had willingly preserved.

(Somewhere in his mind, as he reoriented himself to the world after his eight-hour nap, he recognized that he was glad he had held on. They had sought him on their own, his people, and that was enough hold for him to keep on to staying.)

It was very early morning. The stars were paling in the sky, but the sun's approach was still some time away. Some of his Sand nins were busy dismantling the camp they had set up the afternoon before. Others lingered before the dying embers of the bonfire, taking the remnants of the heat into their clothes and their outstretched palms, talking solemnly with ninjas from the Leaf. The desert was always cold at this hour.

Gaara sat alone in an outcropping, a ways from the efficient bustle of his elite warriors. If there had been some colossal change in his body after the Akatsuki's extraction of the demon-beast, he could not feel it yet. But with cold logic, he assured himself he would as the days passed. It was gone, from inside him, gone. For the first time, he was alone in his body.

Did he miss the intrusion that had been there?

Intrusion; the usage of such a term was questionable in the first place. Others would say that the removal of the one-tail should be a relief. But then, he had always lived, shared a body with the one-tail. Wouldn't the lack thereof of the said intruder be in itself an intrusion on his equilibrium?

For now, he could sense nothing, could feel nothing, be it grief or relief. Gaara did not sit alone to muse with his thoughts or attempt to divulge the secrets of his subconscious. He came because the cool wind blasted the outcropping full force and because it was quiet there.

"I should have known they'd spike the tea."

The heavy panting of the speaker garbled most of the plaintive remark. Gaara didn't bother to look at the genin to see the exhaustion in the boy's eyes. The Sand's method in training had never been touchy-feely and wholesome—neither were their practical jokes.

"I've never been that drunk in my life," continued the speaker. "Not that I've ever been drunk, anyway. Still, I should have retained enough wits to notice that my sleeping bag had been lined with Kabibe cacti."

A venomous plant that affected control of fine motor movements. The antidote was basic, something any Sand genin was capable of concocting. However—

"Today, I learned something very important," the drunken babbling went on. "Never, ever, ever take Kabibe cacti antidote under the influence of alcohol. You are going to end up really, really messed up. I can't even walk properly. When I try to run, I somehow end up kicking my nose. Who knew that was possible?"

Gaara was about to move to another place. There was no worry about the genin tagging along to insist on keeping him company. He'd be too busy trying to figure out which foot was which.

"But the fact that I'm here's even more impossible. Isn't it cool for us to be here? I mean, genins like us, represented in retrieval operation of our Kazekage-sama. Really, it would be an honor I'd remember for the rest of my life. Totally awesome."

The Kazekage glanced at the speaker then, but the boy's wide eyes were directed to the sandy floor.

"Uh-oh..." he said uncertainly. "There's a lizard trapped under my foot."

Yes, Gaara had seen when he turned his head slightly to look at the genin. It was a small animal, with a body probably as big as a grown man's open palm. And yes, it was trapped under the child's foot.

"Er... I can't bend my knee." The boy's voice took on a helpless note. "Can you help me lift it up?"

Wordlessly, Gaara did as was requested of him. But the animal had streaked away even before the sandaled foot was raised from the ground, a blur that the Sand leader easily noted. All that was left was the fat tail of the animal, wriggling erratically on the sand as it died, abandoned.

The genin blinked at it. "That's disgusting," he remarked slowly. "I remember from school. Those lizards leave their tails behind when they get in trouble like that. Like when something catches them by the tail; you know what I'm saying? But it's still disgusting."

"It was a matter of survival," Gaara said simply.

"Yeah," the younger boy agreed sagely. "But don't we do disgusting things for survival, anyway?" His expression became thoughtful. "I am sorry, though. Somewhere out there, there's a tail-less lizard, all because some clumsy genin was stupid enough to drink the spiked tea his sensei offered him. I bet it would be lonely without his tail. I mean, that was his tail since he was born, right? You'd miss your tail, too, wouldn't you? "

"Maybe."

"But we can't fully appreciate the gravity of the lizard's situation. We humans don't have tails. So it's not important to us. We wouldn't know how it'd be like for a lizard to leave it's tail behind." The boy was shaking his head sorrowfully. "Poor lizard. I hope it's all right."

There was a brief silence. Gaara pushed himself from the rock and started to walk away.

"I hope Kazekage-sama's all right, too."

Gaara went on walking, then paused after a few steps. "Don't fret," he said, a flat voice that was accustomed to commanding and being followed.

"Huh?" The genin blinked owlishly. "Fret? About Kazekage-sama? But he's Kazekage-sama. Of course, I'd fret if he's not all right."

"Your lizard's tail," Gaara said, turning back slightly. "It'll grow back."

The boy's face cleared up. "That makes me feel better, I guess," he said, struggling through the haze of alcohol, the venom, and the antidote warring in his bloodstream. "That makes them luckier than us, right?"

"Maybe."

He stayed a few more quieter minutes (the genin had fallen asleep and was lightly snoring), then Gaara walked back to the camp. His elder siblings beckoned to him from the circle of faces around the smoking carcass of the campfire. The silver glint of their arm guards were beacons in the dingy darkness, but gradually became even less necessary as light increased.

It was dawn.

22:39


	13. The Good Morning Reminder

Disclaimer: As always, Naruto is the property of Masashi Kishimoto, etc. Borrowing for purposes of entertainment.

**The Origin of the Good Morning Reminder**

_February 3: Lemongrass summer_

It happened in a wayside inn in some far-flung village of a land that was not their home. The sun was high in the heavens and rather fierce; it was a muggy day and all in all not-so-pleasant to be lugging around strapped with the usual ninja arsenal and carrying about fragile documents that could shake the very foundations of empires. But again, it was too hot to be walking about and, anyway, it was time for lunch, so she conceded to her companion's wishes and soon had before her a steaming hot bowl of ramen and a tall glass of iced tea.

The ramen was different in that part of the world, but she was not disappointed at all. There was a different flavor in the soup base, one she couldn't quite name. As expected, the meal made Naruto deliriously happy. She could not help but smile fondly as, rapt by his energy, she listened to him talk in between gulps of noodles.

What she didn't expect, however, happened after he suddenly grew very solemn, watching her wordlessly with thoughtful, startling blue eyes. Hinata could still feel the warmth of his mouth against hers, taste the peculiar herb that made their soup aromatic and lemony. It was a lingering kiss, but not overly long, tentative but by no means nervous—it was not his first time, unlike her. When he pulled away, she was left quite imbalanced and feeling rather... new. Dazedly, she stared at him with her opaline eyes, wondering whether it was heat stroke that was making her light headed and the rest of the room appear rather fuzzy.

"W-what was that?" she uttered hesitantly.

Naruto licked his lips and frowned in concentration. "It's lemongrass," he said finally.

"Lemongrass?"

He grinned at her. "Yup. Lemongrass. In our ramen. Yummy, huh?"

"No." She touched her lips with her fingers lightly. "I mean, yes, yummy. But I meant that... What–"

"That," he answered with aplomb, "was a kiss, Hinata-chan."

Well. What could she say to that?

"Thanks for the awesome lunch and the awesome mission." He got up and stretched, yawning widely. "But now we got to get moving or Tsunade-obaachan will have our asses whipped. Let's go home!"

The rest of that trip home was nothing more than a blur. Hinata never forgot that summer, however, and neither did she forget the flavor of lemongrass, for her every day started with a good morning reminder.

01:41 020306


	14. Drowning Fish

Disclaimer: As always, Naruto is the property of Masashi Kishimoto, etc. Borrowing for purposes of entertainment.

**Drowning Fish**

_February 4: drowned fields_

Confidence was never a thing the legendary sannin lacked, so used to being prodigious in any of their undertaking, be it singly or as a group. But even Tsunade-hime had no cure for death, and thus being so unused to being stumped like this, she felt like fish out of water. The irony of it all was that there _was_ so much water around her—the rain, her tears, his blood—and if only the world was a bowl to catch it all in one place, she wouldn't be gasping her eyeballs out and, perhaps, her brain would be actually working.

Instead, the world was an oxymoron. Hatefully, it throbbed with life while he lay dead in front of her. So there she was, hungering for oxygen, a landed fish in drowning fields.

020306 16:15


	15. The Ramen Plan

Disclaimer: As always, Naruto is the property of Masashi Kishimoto, etc. Borrowing for purposes of entertainment.

**The Ramen Plan**

_February 10: pick my love up with chopsticks_

Let it be never said that Hyuuga Hinata stood in corners and loved from the shadows. Her ways, of course, were not the usual ways of girls her age, but then the most conventional means were not necessarily the most effective ones.

The game plan was to ingratiate herself with Uzumaki Naruto's belly; far better than doe-eyed looks and coquettish smiles. (Read: Hinata did not do coquettish anything.) Apparently, it was working, for he sought her company now, fairly piqued by her culinary explorations. Perhaps, he would find another reason as time passed—who knew?

Hinata was patient. It was the enjoyment of her beloved she sought. The reciprocation of affections every girl dreamed of might take years, might come never, but she was inebriated by true love, her first (and only, says she). If in the future, bitterness was to be her libation, then so be it. For now, she pledged on the ramen plan.

10:46 020906


	16. His Harem

Disclaimer: As always, Naruto is the property of Masashi Kishimoto, etc. Borrowing for purposes of entertainment.

**Untitled**

_February 14: 4_

Shikamaru had never been one of those people enamored with the so-called fairer sex. Don't get him wrong—he begrudged noone of their importance in this miserable planet. Being a complacent, almost bovine, sort of person (or so he thought), he went along with life's flow, even deciding for himself early on that he would someday marry someone—nobody special, really.

Apparently, the time has come to choose who.

As far as women went, Shikamaru didn't have any problems with Haruno Sakura (now that both had gained the maturity and sanity expected from adults). A smart woman and a cool professional, their dealings mostly revolved around the ninja business, mostly since they were both pretty much at the beck and call of the Godaime-sama (may she be snoring somewhere and not thinking of ordering someone to haul his ass to her esteemed presence). To cut the long story short, Sakura was the chosen messenger of Konohagakure no Sato's very active and fairly accurate rumor mill. He easily deciphered her guileless seeming remark as they discussed a successful joint mission with Sand and the rewards to be given out by the client: "Ino-chan handled the situation stunningly," Sakura said, wide-eyed. "Temari-san, too. It's a good thing we don't have to choose only _one_ ninja to laud, like they do in Coconut country. Ino's one of our own, but Temari-san is also well liked in our village."

He wasn't as stupid as he looked and she knew that (and about his mother nagging him to settle down.) She knew he would get her drift. Her illogic, however, stumped him.

His idea of a wife was more on the tractable side—which Ino and Temari happened to be neither. But like his mother, they were both oddly necessary in his life, and he didn't completely comprehend the veiled threat in Sakura's words. The mednin wanted him to choose; that was simply it, as if the act of not choosing was wrong, would be regarded (on Sakura's part) as an affront to both women, and would not be tolerated.

Shikamaru's expression soured further.

Women. How he loved them all—and none of them as much as good old Lady Luck. Her sense of humor was just off the hook. His mother all over his ass. The Ino-Temari issue. That monster of a mednin's death threats...

Still, Shikamaru figured he wasn't the worst off. Beside him brooded the man who had raised brooding to an art form, no doubt mulling over his affections for Lady Luck, as well.

At least, Shikamaru didn't have generations of his dead people waiting for him to replenish his clan.

1515 021406 revised: 1354 021606


	17. Closure

Disclaimer: As always, Naruto is the property of Masashi Kishimoto, etc. Borrowing for purposes of entertainment.

**Closure**

_March 29: Accept all happiness from me_

It was an evening, like many evenings before it. For many a ninja, if not caught in the midst of an important mission, this time would be relished by spending it with family or friends. Goodness knows, time was a rare commodity, a commodity, in fact, that had no known price.

Haruno Sakura was doing just that. To family she had given her dues; only a few minutes earlier her infectious laughter had reduced her mother to tears, who of late had become rather easily excitable... thinned out, worn at the edges. The career she chose—a given for a village such as theirs—was never easy to take for a loved one, least of all for a civilian one. But her father was still the same: strict, proud, and rather too liberal with soy sauce.

Now, it was time for friends.

There was a certain ache, a certain longing there. It bloomed in the secret corners of her heart, dim and musty little corners of rooms that weren't there, rooms that were filled with nothing, rooms that echo with laughter and talk and dreams that were there... almost there... but now were no more, nor ever again. To these places she wanted to draw them, those that she loved, places that were soft and safe, static and preserved, and, of course, all hers.

All hers.

Of course, that was not so, and she knew that. Her smile was gentle, vibrant even in the squid-black, diluted darkness of that summer evening. She smiled to herself, for herself, but others did see her in the semi-night. They smiled back, even the ones hidden behind the expressionless ANBU masks.

To linger with such notions and emotions would be to succumb to the melancholy that was a waiting danger to every shinobi's lonesome heart. The calling to such a profession was a wild one, fierce, lonely, and rarely truly understood. Sakura was still learning to live with the schisms that occasionally rose between mind and heart, duty and desire, or morality and necessity—but, hey, everybody did. The point is, despite the usual crest and troughs of mood and luck inherent in human life, Haruno Sakura was happy. It was in her nature to want to share that happiness.

Uchiha Sasuke was already there in the usual place, grave and brooding in that darkened corner nearest the stage. The two bottles of sake were there, too, one clear-toned and sweet enough to suit her palate. He was alone, but that was to be expected.

"The dobe is, at the moment, indisposed," he spoke without turning.

"Is he?" Sakura said slyly as she sat down opposite her old team mate.

"He's not coming."

"I didn't think so." She poured for herself. "As much as he loves your dear, dour company, I don't think he'll leave his new and lovely wife lonely and cold for your sake."

The dark eyes rolled to her direction in a rather bored manner. "When I said, he's not coming, I meant exactly that."

Sakura took a few moments to register that.

Then...

"You're nasty, Sasuke-kun," she accused primly. "Ordinarily, I'd have a nastier joke to top that, but this is a special occasion for Naruto. I'm not joining the teasings this time."

Sasuke smirked. "There was an altercation."

"Altercation?" Sakura groaned. "With whom?"

"His in-laws, naturally."

"But I thought they carted off Neji-san to an S-class mission on the other side of the planet? I heard Lee-san and Tenten-san plotting about it."

"Apparently, the great weapon specialist was vulnerable to a certain class of weapon owned by the likes of Hyuuga Neji," Sasuke said seriously.

"The likes? You mean the Byakugan?" Sakura frowned. "You were referring to his being Hyuuga, right?"

"His being male, actually."

Sakura rolled her eyes. "Okay, enough green jokes," she said impatiently. "What happened with Naruto and Neji?"

"They fought over dinner. Hinata got pissed. They're both not sleeping in the mansion tonight."

"Oooh... That's awesome of her. I'm getting tired of those two acting like toddlers. Go, Hinata-chan!"

Face expressionless, Sasuke summarized his story. "Hinata was all over their asses, so when I said Naruto's not coming tonight, I meant literally he's not—"

"All right, don't belabor it, Sasuke-kun!" Sakura waggled an eyebrow. "Good jokes are subtle. If you overdo it, it's not as effective."

The other merely snorted.

"And stop carousing with Kiba in those seedy places. You're getting much too vulgar to handle."

"Like you."

"Well, excuse me!" The pink haired woman assumed a mourning affect. "What _ever_ happened to that handsome, straight-laced boy I so adored back in the days? He would _never_ indulge in gossip about his rival's sex life or make up stories about sexy Hyuuga men seducing their equally sexy teammates. Whatever happened to my dreamy, one-track-minded avenger?"

"He took some laxative," answered the Uchiha dryly.

"Grew hemorrhoids," Sakura added, helplessly dissolving into chuckles.

"And the world lost a perfect asshole."

She beamed at him fondly, warm with all the years of friendship. "But, kami-sama," she declared earnestly. "I do love you even more for that!"

The dark-haired jounin visibly blanched. By principle, Uchiha Sasuke did not blanch. Slightly alarmed herself, Sakura choked back her giggles.

"Sasuke-kun," she prompted carefully after a few moments of uncomfortable silence.

No reaction.

"Sasuke-kun, please don't misunderstand me."

Still nothing.

"Sasuke..."

So she punched him.

"Dammit, what the hell—!"

'I said, don't misunderstand me!"

Sasuke glared at her.

She glared right back. "You're getting paranoid by this universal-seeming jump into matrimony. Geeze..."

"A woman has only a number of reproductive years," he retorted. "You tell me that every chance you get."

"Oh, hush," she said distractedly. "I'm not going to marry you. You know that. But I do love you, stupid. And you love me back—don't you deny it!"

Sasuke merely grunted.

"Right." The Godaime's protégé suddenly sobered up. "I have something important to tell you."

The former missing nin trained his dark eyes on her warily.

"Last night, during the wedding reception, Hinata-chan said very moving things about her husband." Sakura smiled. "You might have noticed. I was crying by the time she was finished."

"Naruto..." Sasuke paused. Amazingly, he didn't follow the name with an insult, as per his usual. "Is contagious," he finally said.

His friend gave him an understanding look. "Yes. He's very important to me, too. I can't imagine how I'd be, if I had never met him. But that's not what got me teary.

"Hinata-chan said, that she had loved Naruto for so very long. Naruto had never really noticed her back then, but she didn't care." Sakura grinned evilly. "Sounds familiar now?"

"Sakura..."

"Let me finish."

Tiredly, Sasuke nodded. For a moment, he looked all the years that had piled on him since losing his family. For a moment, he looked the haunted man who had seen and caused, lived, enough terror and sorrow to fill several lifetimes.

"It was Naruto who inspired her to transcend herself, to not only be better, but to _be_. He was her guiding light, her endmost goal, her star...

"He was... my you."

"Me?" Dark eyes flickered with something unreadable. Sasuke said nothing else, joined his hands below his chin, and rested his elbows on the table, in that old familiar pose.

"You remember that night, Sasuke-kun? When I tried to stop you from joining Orochimaru? That was... That was the beginning of an epiphany. When Naruto came home without you, lightning struck."

Sakura tucked her pink hair behind an ear, as she gathered her thoughts. Her voice was slightly tremulous, but her words were true. Her eyes, emerald green under the subdued light of the bar, wouldn't, couldn't, lie.

"So without you, Sasuke-kun, I would have never become who I am now. Without you, I wouldn't have studied under Tsunade-sama, never would have become a mednin—yes, every wound I've stanched, every life I gave back, there was a you behind it—never would have become a piece in legend.

"Sasuke-kun, I would never have become me."

"Sakura..." Again, that tired, tired aura. Sasuke rubbed his forehead. After a long pause, he spoke quietly, "And what would you have me do now?"

"Accept my thanks?"

Sasuke permitted himself a half-smile. "I thought you're going to volunteer to help me repopulate my clan."

"Fat chance." Sakura stuck her tongue out at him. "But you know, you are thirty— "

"_You're_ thirty."

"Yes, I am. And soon you'll be thirty, too. I may not have been supportive of the avenging part, but this ambition I'm all for."

Sasuke seemed to search for suitable answer. "I see," was what he finally settled with.

"You see, I wish you happiness, Sasuke-kun. It's not just learning how to crack green jokes or keeping getting-piss-drunk engagements with the boys. I mean, real happiness." Emotion filled her throat and she swallowed to allow her vocal cords the space to actually work. The emotion in her eyes, however, she didn't blink away. She focused it on her battered old team mate, the wiry, tragedy-sculpted man who still lived alone in a little ghost town, who still stared at shadows with chilling death in his eyes, still occasionally transported into a world that was no longer there, never would be there. "You deserve it, Sasuke-kun. And I know you want reasons, you stupid, stubborn man, but there are no qualifications to deserve happiness! Allow yourself real happiness. Please."

"Real happiness," the man repeated, his tone totally devoid of bitterness. He shifted in his seat and looked at her straight in the eye. "I think it would be a waste of my time, if I repeat that speech I gave you back when we were thirteen: I'm not like you."

"And it would be a waste of mine to repeat the speech I gave you back when we were fifteen after I beat you to a bloody pulp: I don't give a shit."

Sasuke began to laugh. It was a dry sort of laugh, even after all these years, but it was still a laugh.

"As for the gratitude you voiced that fateful day you broke the heart of a hapless thirteen year old girl..." Sakura smiled vaguely. "You're welcome."

"You're annoying, you know that?"

"I know." Sakura's pat on his back was indulgent. "But I like closure, Sasuke-kun."

"You got it then." He stood up suddenly. "I have a mission early tomorrow."

Sakura raised an eyebrow.

"Don't give me that," he said irritably.

"I believe you." She sighed, not without a tinge of melodrama.

"But I have something to give to you, before I go. As a memento of the undying appreciation I first spoke of seventeen years ago. Kakashi gave it to me."

"Oh?"

What he handed her was a picture. It was of the old Team 7 during the reception of Uzumaki Naruto's wedding to Hyuuga Hinata. Kakashi was beaming at one corner, his face still concealed by that damnable mask, his eyes crinkled as he squeezed the air out of the yelping groomsman. Sakura was beside them, lady-like and wise, resplendent in the teal green kimono brocaded with dainty, stylized lilies—with one naughty hand pouring sake over her irrepressible blond teammate. Uchiha Sasuke, handsome beyond words in his midnight blue formal attire, was in the middle of all this chaos.

He had the most adorable expression of confusion in his face.

Sakura then laughed. She laughed deeply and heartily, flushing with the happiness that welled unexpectedly from the depths of her being.

"Sasuke-kun!" she called out at the retreating figure of her friend. "You should keep this—"

He waved her away without turning back.

"But knowing you'd live with such an expression every day of your life and thus will forget about it... I'll keep it for you and remind you every single day!"

"Tch. Shut the hell up."

"Oh, you're so very welcome."

2226 032906

_AN/ One: Basically, this is a statement I had wanted to express for weeks now__: I will not freak out if Kishimoto decides not to canon-ize sasusaku. This is a friendship fic, so even though everybody's entitled to interpret a fic anyway they want it, I'd much rather not insinuate sasusaku-ness, even in the subtext._

_Hell. Who am I kidding here?_

_Insinuate all you want._

_And two, Sasuke's rendered a little differently here. OO  
_


	18. Shadowing Shadow

1Disclaimer: As always, Naruto is the property of Masashi Kishimoto, etc. Borrowing for purposes of entertainment.

**Shadowing shadow**

_May 4: Dealing futures from the deck of swords_

Bright as it was usually kept, the chamber was shadowed. Secrets of such magnitude were enclosed in this room. The fate of nations, the future of generations, were decided here by a single person, one who carried the weight of information gathered by thousands of shinobi.

Before, Shizune's role had merely been to put limits on the older woman's gambling antics, be flimsy sheath to an unstable weapon teetering on self-destruction. The burden of Hokage, however, was the burden of one. Despite what the raven-haired mednin wished to offer her teacher and friend, her influence would always remain unseen. Shizune was aware of her role, knew of her limited power to make things happen and not happen. The decisions Tsunade-sama make were never easy, and Shizune knew she affected any number of them, intentionally or not. It was not a position she felt strong enough, brave enough to hold. Tsunade after all was the stuff of legends, while Shizune was just. . . herself.

Still, she'd endure worse for her erratic Hokage. Self-styled accomplice and partner-in-crime, she could at least offer unwavering loyalty and faith.

"Hokage-sama, drinking again! And this desk: gross!"

And well... A little bit of criticism never hurt either.

10:37


	19. The Follower

1Disclaimer: As always, Naruto is the property of Masashi Kishimoto, etc. Borrowing for purposes of entertainment.

**The follower**

_May 6: Your masterful hand with whip or sword_

Overheard:

"So."

"So."

"How was it?"

A grunt.

"Come on. You know what I mean."

"No, I don't know what you mean," came the irritated answer. "And would you mind hurrying up? I'm tired and I want to go home."

"Tired? But wasn't your team leader Hinata-sama of the Hyuuga clan?"

The other snorted. "Yeah."

"That's what I'm asking! How was she?"

"Well, she's not a slave driver, but she's definitely not the goddess of fucking mercy."

"But I heard she was like a pushover or something."

"Pushover?" The young man sounded profoundly disgusted. "She's a Hyuuga through and through."

"Is that so?" The other chuunin was disappointed. "I was looking forward to being in her team next week." He sighed. "So she's no good?"

"No good? I just said she's a Hyuuga through and through!"

"Well, don't get your panties into a twist. I was just thinking she's the most human in that creepy family. I guess, I'm wrong, huh?"

"What do you expect with a cousin like that? And her sister? Pshaw."

"Yeah, that Hyuuga Neji's pretty scary."

"Scary yourself, baka."

Immensely amused, Neji left the two alone. Who knew what they'll do, once they noted his laughing presence.

-1445 050306


	20. Diffusivity

1Disclaimer: As always, Naruto is the property of Masashi Kishimoto, etc. Borrowing for purposes of entertainment.

**Diffusivity**

_June 1: wind chimes moved by solar winds_

Ever had a day when every crazy thing that could possibly have happened did happen to traipse past your slack, slightly quivering jaw? What with the whirlwind of happenings, you could but blink wearily in desperate attempt to trap reality and what do you know!—day's over. The only thing you could then do was to stand absolutely still and allow the world to drift back into place, for the minutely orchestrated plan of your life, for its rituals, to settle back to its rightful places.

Hinata felt so.

But it was also bone-deep exhaustion that caged her in that serene motionlessness. Steadily, her mind and body recuperated from the ravages of stress and exhilaration, the heart-gripping mixture of tension and excitement that swaddled the caliber of missions she and her team were given nowadays. A geography-altering avalanche, the tantalizing Aurora Borealis, the trek through the domain of polar bears... How could they wonder why even she found the ninja's life irresistible?

Beside her, she could feel her teammates stir subtly, breathe. The three males were doing as she was doing, though Akamaru and Kiba were more subdued than usual; the air of the wayside, near-deserted temple was too solemn for their usual means of unwinding. It was silent but for the elusive tinkling that nudged her eyes open.

"Is that _that_ windchime I'm hearing?" Kiba asked suspiciously.

"No," came Shino's reply. "It appears to be broken."

"I can hear it and it's definitely coming from there," the chuunin retorted with asperity.

"Then there was no point in posing the inquiry, was there?"

Kiba ignored him. "And there's hardly any wind tonight, right Akamaru?"

The dog barked an affirmative.

A profound pause.

"Come to think of it," Kiba continued thoughtfully. "What makes the wind blow, anyway?"

"The sun," murmured Hinata, but was too tired to further explain.

"But it's night time."

"And that wind chime is broken," said Shino.

"What does the wind chime have to do with anything?" Kiba was irritated. "It probably just looks broken, but it's not 'coz obviously its making a sound."

"The sun's on the other side of the earth. Just because you fail to see something doesn't negate the said object's existence or influence in the world it's in."

Kiba made a quizzical sound.

"Hinata, for instance. What drives Hinata now? What is her inspiration? Is it necessarily something we touch and see and feel everyday?"

"Stop being so cryptic."

"Then stop waxing philosophy."

"Come to think of it," Kiba continued. " What does drive you, Hinata? You were awesome today!"

"The proper pronoun should be 'who,' in that pointless question. "

Startled, Hinata sat up gingerly, turning her pale wide eyes to the hidden ones of her teammate. "W-who?" she stuttered. "Shino-kun–"

Kiba was grinning at her. "You don't have to answer that," he said impishly. "We already know."

The fourteen year-old kunoichi laughed instead, the crimson on her cheeks and the bantering of her friends the perfectly mundane capping to a day of insanity.

May 29, evening


	21. Canine Loyalty

1Disclaimer: As always, Naruto is the property of Masashi Kishimoto, etc. Borrowing for purposes of entertainment.

**Canine loyalty**

_June 8: love me, love my dog_

When Naruto first became more informed about Hinata's. . . well, Hinata in general, he had been rightfully indignant about the seeming lack of love she endured from her family, so much that he even declared to change the Hyuuga clan once he became Hokage. Well, whatever it was that happened in the intervening time, the familial love thing has definitely changed. Papa Hyuuga was protective, possessive, and painful. (Very. It was instinctive now for the blond to stay at least a feet away from the heiress while within the grounds of the estate). Hanabi, the little sister, who was supposed to be nasty and ill-tempered, was exactly that—except with Hinata. She was extremely fond of her older sister, and extremely the opposite of her sister's suitor. Neji called it jealousy. Naruto called it homicidal ideation, a term he learned from the (mostly) sympathetic Sakura-chan.

Speaking of Neji, Neji was okay. For the most part. Naruto refused to be intimidated by the older ninja. Refused. Neji could keep on staring till he stare out his big, pale-ass eyes, and Naruto would keep on ignoring him.

(Ignore, ignore, ignore, ignore, ignore, ignore. . .)

And then, there's the dog.

As if things weren't bad enough as they were, Kiba seemed to have taken up the chore of chaperoning the two of them _everywhere_ and _everywhen_. With both Kurenai and Hiashi strongly approving (as well as Hanabi, Neji, Kakashi, Tsunade, and even Sakura), there wasn't anything Naruto could do about it. It was actually better for his nerves if Kiba was with them, instead of stalking them. All his popping out at the most annoying moments was making Naruto sick in the heart and guts.

Kami-sama, but it did cramp his operations (no pun intended). His dilapidated Gama-chan bore the brunt of an unwelcome addition. Of course, Naruto had to grin and bear it (when he's not rolling around in the dust with him in a friendly, energetic little "spar"), because it pleased Hinata to see everybody getting along so well.

Gah, if only she wasn't so cute!

"You hungry, Hinata-chan? We should have picked up some food on the way here."

"Uh, well, I skipped breakfast this morning, too, so. . ."

Naruto's brows furrowed. "Can't help it, 'coz we were in a hurry and all that, but now we can't leave our spot here." Here was the village park, teeming with people lolling about and enjoying the blooming cherry trees. "One of us will have to get something."

Hinata turned to her old team mate. "You don't mind going for ramen, do you, Kiba-kun?"

"Why would I mind ramen, Hinata-chan?" Kiba answered with aplomb. "I'm easy to get along with, on top of being hot and sexy. We eat anything. Right, Akamaru? Naruto can get all the ramen he wants."

Hinata nodded happily to Naruto's direction. "See, Naruto-kun? Kiba-kun doesn't mind, and Akamaru-kun will help him."

"Uh, Hinata-chan, you're not saying we—"

"Yeah, she is," Naruto said, grinning rather viciously at the unwanted companion. "Kiba's an all-around awesome guy like that. He'll _fetch_ it for us."

And Kiba had to oblige, of course. He couldn't resist Hinata-chan anything, either.

1110 060806


	22. White Flags and Red Paint

Disclaimer: As always, Naruto is the property of Masashi Kishimoto, etc. Borrowing for purposes of entertainment.

**White Flags and Red Paint**

_September 11: Prague Spring_

22:43 091106

It wasn't what he had in mind when he opted for a truce. A session of muzzling, diversionary enough for some accidental groping, maybe (because he was, despite appearances, a certifiable male of an endothermic species), though a day of marinating in sudsy dishwater was an admittedly more probable scenario, as was pack-animal labor in the extensive Yamanaka gardens.

There was a lot to be said about brushing toes, prune-like from a long, luxuriant soak, and painting them the horrendous red of Valentine cards.

Nara Shikamaru was going to exercise his legendary prudence and would say, for once, absolutely nothing.

-23:09 091106


	23. ReturnExchange

Disclaimer: As always, Naruto is the property of Masashi Kishimoto, etc. Borrowing for purposes of entertainment.

**Return / Exchange**

_October 12: what you pay for_

Walking through the silent corridors of his house, he resisted the urge to look behind him. There was nothing there; there never was. The feeling of being watched came from the shadows. The shadows bore nothing but his thoughts and flights of fancy. Justice, whatever people thought of his notion of it, ran in his blood, and he was far more vigilant of himself than anybody else supposedly keeping tabs on former missing nins.

The knocks on his door had ceased a few minutes ago. While Uzumaki Naruto would be hollering in irritation by now, Haruno Sakura usually knocked two or three times, then patiently waited for him to answer the door. He took his time, certain she was still there. (If she not, then what she came for was obviously unimportant.)

"Sasuke-kun," she greeted him. "Good morning."

He nodded in reply and stood aside to let her in.

She shook her head. "I have a meeting in Sand. I'll get late, if don't leave soon."

". . . I see."

"But I promised you," she said with an apologetic smile. "Don't think I forgot."

Pink strands fluttered to her eyes, as she bent down to retrieve a clay pot. She shook it out of her face before directing another smile to his direction.

"This'll probably last you a couple of meals," she said. "But remember to refrigerate it. The tomatoes make it spoil more easily."

He stared at the lidded container, a trace of uncertainty on his expression. "How much do I owe you?" he finally said.

"Don't be silly." She shook the pot at him. He heard the stew sloshing inside. "I know I promised to teach you how to make it. This will have to do for the moment. I'm not sure when I'll be back, and you'll probably be off somewhere by then."

He alluded to the maritime war disrupting the fishing industries of Fire country and her neighbors.

"I got the fish at discount price—the wonders of name-dropping. And don't worry! It's fresh."

"Fine," he acquiesced gruffly. "If it would get you off my property."

"It would," she assured blithely.

He took the pot. She kept her hands where they were for a brief moment, then pulled them from underneath his.

"Um . . . See you, Sasuke-kun."

He watched her leave from his doorway.

------

Walking through the narrow spaces of her family home, she quickened her pace, aware that what lay behind the door might be tidings of another medical emergency. Fire country was uninvolved with the southern war, but then ninjas were rarely completely uninvolved with anything.

"Sakura."

"A more pleasant surprise than I thought," she exclaimed appreciatively, when she saw the uniformed jounin. "Come in, Sasuke-kun."

"I have a mission."

She arched an eyebrow. "You won't convince me you're running late; you never do."

"I'm not."

She then pointed out that there wasn't any reason for him not to come in. To which he responded that there wasn't a reason for him to come in, either.

"I've come to return this," he said, thrusting a clay pot at her, complete with the insulating swaddle it had when she delivered the stew she brought to him a week a ago.

She took it, blinking. It was heavy. "Um, Sasuke-kun—"

"I know," he said irritably. "The interest, some other time."

"Know what?" she asked, as he turned to leave. "Interest? All that went over my head, Sasuke-kun. Entirely. Sasuke-kun?"

He ignored her.

Curiosity piqued, she peeked into the container and chuckled in spite of herself. Rice cakes filled with bean paste were the best things he could make, he once said. Apparently, they were the only ones of his creations worthy to give in exchange for the stew she cooked him using a Haruno family recipe and the fresh fish she got for nearly nothing at a costal village, after mentioning Naruto's name. (What _was_ it about that guy? And what part of the world _hasn't_ he been in?)

Wondering what Sasuke had in mind to pay for interest, she watched him leave from her doorway.

23:03 101206


	24. It's Different

Disclaimer: As always, Naruto is the property of Masashi Kishimoto, etc. Borrowing for purposes of entertainment.

**It's Different**

_dormant muses challenge #3: The Title Says Everything_

There had been something odd with the lighting at the banquet table. The way the lamps were positioned about the spartan hall cast oblique shadows over the revelers' faces. Were their voices somehow muted, they would have seemed a gaggle of grinning faces plotting something heinous, a ghastly pantomime show instead of a small and solemn wedding party. He would completely blame it on the lighting, but that would be foisting equal blame on his own two eyes. He couldn't read the expression on many of the guests' faces, but it had nothing to do with the acuity of his vision.

Not that many of their opinions counted, anyway. As it was, he didn't have to sit long to muse on what lay behind the politely joyous facades. Her small hand crept up his arm, her voluminous sleeve slowly dragging across his thighs. She smiled a small secretive smile when his eyes shifted to her direction. He resisted throwing back a smirk. Her grip was tremulous.

When he rose from his seat, subtly dragging her up with him as he went, his face was back to its usual gravity. There was some ceremony or another that involved thanking these people for their presence that auspicious day. He wasn't particularly thankful or attentive when he did so—none of them were threatening, despite their varying degrees of disapproval. (And there were merits to having an incorrigible, inflexible dobe for a best man.) He allowed his attention to linger on the woman walking before him—a blatant breech of tradition on their first day as man and wife—on the oddly nondescript annulus that served as her family's emblem, lost among the multihued details of her uchikake's flamboyant design.

The silent walk home was another ceremony, one as old as the clan itself, perhaps. She lead the way, her elegant figure emblazoned on the vermillion skies, in excruciating little steps punctuated by the slap of wood on stone. Today was the longest day of the year, and traces of it still bled the horizon. The Uchiha compound was still touched by this late dusk, and the multitude of paper lanterns that dotted its corners seemed bleached and impotent against the waning sunlight.

She stopped at the doorway of the main house, a tad breathless, her eyes slightly questioning, the greens grey under the lighting. He stopped a feet from her, watched as she chewed on a lip.

The doors were unbolted. She discovered it was so, when she took the initiative to welcome herself into her new home. Grimacing at his disinterested stare, she tugged at a hand and led him in. Her hands were shaking.

More paper lanterns lined the halls and the stairway, each one lovingly made by her students. She was treated as every other jounin-sensei was treated by their assigned genin-cell: with a certain pugnacious mischievousness. But they worshiped her, in truth, followed her about like starved mongrels. They hated him.

She didn't stop moving again, thereafter, but she did hesitate at the second floor landing. A foot instinctively stepped towards the darkened termination of the narrow hallway, the long-unused boyhood room he had once shared with a once loved, once hated brother. (Where he had dragged her into last time, that first time. Despair was a vicious slave master and he fell into its cycles, in turn meting out an unrelenting rhythm unto her soft, yielding flesh, coating his seething rage with a viscid, toxic passion. Once, he had succumbed to it, only once; it was then and it was still a done damage.) Her grip tightened, callused fingertips digging painfully into his knuckles, then she pivoted, tottering at the weight of her layered raiment, and pulled him to the master's room.

The mednin kept on, even inside the darkened room, till she reached the windows. Sakura peered out into the dreamy in-between-ness of indigo and the limpid incandescence of the lamps. She still retained the quiet air of competence that characterized her in the field, the solid determination she had honed through a myriad of battles with Death. (He had been one of those she had reclaimed from the implacable god.) But he had known her for a very long time, and he could easily see the timid little girl of nearly fifteen years ago, overlaying the semi-legend of the Leaf mednin . He never figured what made her bloom into that strong, unyielding woman. He had been told he somehow influenced this metamorphosis, but everybody knew he was out of town those days she began training, so how could that be? He never asked her.

As far as he knew of wedding days, men customarily lavished platitudes on their brides. He hadn't yet, and he would be a fool and liar not to comment on her glowing beauty—even now, tired as she was. She'd say, he was known to be both, anyway, and that she expected him to say nothing. Besides, he had been staring at her all evening. If that wasn't blatant enough a praise, he didn't know what else would satisfy her.

Sakura turned back to the rest of the room, blinking away a sense of disbelief (probably), and allowed her gaze to roam to various details: the light linen sheets she had washed at least three times to restore to their immaculate white, the heavy wooden furnishings she had stripped and varnished, the seamless flooring they had taken apart and replaced, the walls. . .

Ah, the walls. He had whitewashed them years ago, along with every other room in the compound, though this was actually one of the few spared from the carnage. She left the walls alone.

Her eyes finally met his. There was a certain flash of something in those pale greens, in the tiny shift of her eyebrows. The expression was gone before he could decipher it. (Did years with the Sound nins somehow deteriorate his ability to pick up on social cues? It seemed so.) She smiled, and via those excruciatingly tiny steps, reached for him. Halfway, she murmured his name. Only then did he move to meet her, tilting down his head to accommodate her. It was the same chaste kiss she'd been giving him over the last eight years.

(Excepting that time. Always, excepting that time.)

She murmured his name again, and brushed callused fingers across his cheekbones. The splash of worry on her face was undisguised now—he was wondering when she'd run out of fuel. This was the real Sakura: a highly intelligent and keenly perceptive mednin, a monstrously strong fighter and a formidable tactician, a kind-natured but deeply, deeply insecure young woman. She waited for him to speak first.

Sasuke said nothing. Instead, he reached for her—to shut her up, maybe? He took her lips with his, before they could issue forth useless words, and coaxed them open with a subtle nudge. She jerked away, an odd, spastic movement borne of a divided mind. He decided for her and held her steady, a firm grip to each arm to forestall escape. She was tight, tense,

(quivering like one of those dying hearts she was prattling about, during one of those countless pockets of wasted time she fancied expendable for lets-catch-up-with-old-times sessions. Seventeen years old and still a damnable liar. Liar and faker. Feigning innocence and all puffed up with bravado. Let's save Sasuke-kun. Let's help Sasuke-kun. Self-satisfied fool didn't say so aloud, but she practically effused her life mission to wrench her "former" team mate from "darkness." Former being the operative word, why did she have to be so damn annoying? What would it take to puncture her egotistic belief that she could make everything well again?

He wasn't a disease process. He wasn't Sasuke-kun. He was cold, cold, cold. Dangerous and nameless death. He existed in a narrow avenue, a precarious balance point between vengeance and self-annihilation. He was calm and unruffled, but he really wasn't. He had enough instincts of self-preservation that he would strike at anybody, anybody, who disturbed this equilibrium. He would swallow her whole and make her see, make her feel. Make her feel what enthralled him for years. Ice and fire; rending, searing, crushing her every facet. Dribbles of diamonds to trace his paths about Hell.

He would.

He would.

He would but

He couldn't.

Because he operated on rules of give-and-take. Because he didn't "owe" people. Because he knew she could give as much of the fight as he was willing to give. Because he knew she could humiliate him, grind him to dirt, as fairly as he could.

But he wouldn't.

Because she wouldn't.

He couldn't.

So he relinquished her, eyes whirring, searching. Not for an edge in battle, it was the chance of escape he sought. Exodus from the bloody-walled room, the room once shared with a brother, once loved, once hated.

Hated.

Hated.

And always,

loved.)

Sakura was unmoving, as he was, their lips mushed together like two lumps of mud. He tried to push her away, but he was met with resistance from the deceptively loose hold she had about his neck. He twisted his head away; she allowed that, one of her hands creeping down to stroke the small of his back, as one would a cat's belly. Relenting, he rested his head against her, ignoring the various hair ornaments poking against his temple. This seemed to please her, and the gentle stroking strengthened into a hypnotic kneading of the muscles running parallel his spine.

Fighting the cloud of relaxation, he became. . . sullen. She read him as damn minutely as she did her enemies and textbooks. To vindicate himself, he latched on to her nearer ear. When the gnawing softened into a more generalized nuzzling, she sighed, wriggled loose, and planted a firm, short kiss on his mouth.

Sasuke's char-black eyes bore at her, as if such a stare could divulge answers—or more precisely, what he wanted was her permission. She smiled impishly, not unkindly, and sighed once more.

"It's different," she said.

He nodded, even though it wasn't a question. This seemed to please her, anyway, and she lead him away from the window by a hand. At some point, she brought that same hand to her obi, and turned to answer his gaze with her own, his lips with hers.

As the layers of silk fell away, it was her, this time, who deepened the kiss. And then. . . It wasn't like eight years ago.

(Because though she had allowed him the same eight years ago, he was far less kinder to himself back then. He took what she gave, but he took angrily and fearfully. He didn't want to take what she gave as gift, and so took it as plunder. Nonetheless, it had been a gift. No matter how he accepted it, it remained so. It took years before his pride was worn down enough for him to realize this, to be grateful to her.

Some would call her victim, but she was far braver than he was that night. Both of them, seventeen. Both of them, liar and faker. He didn't get to run away that night. And her. . .

She was still there, wasn't she? )

It was different today.

October 7, 2007 (2:36pm)

Geh. I'm not sure what I was really aiming for in this piece. Oh well. I meant for it to become a lemon, but I ran out of time and steam. (Besides, the only thing holding together this rambling string of words is. . . I dunno what, actually. Eheh.)

Might be expanded into a three-chaptered fic. Maybe, maybe not.


	25. Confectioners' Sugar

Disclaimer: Naruto. Not mine.

**Confectioners' Sugar**

_dormant muses challenge/community activity  
Dear Santa: The December Anonymous Writing Challenge  
Request reads as follows:  
FLUFFY SASU/SAKU!!!! ♥  
theme: powdered snow_

The overcast skies resembled wings, a multitude of them overlapping each other, a spectrum of grays. They moved as a collective whole, in the rare, minute steps of a prolonged round dance. The air was otherwise still and serene, but the hint of more precipitation to fall remained, a breath suspended.

There was something belittling about the immensity of the northern skies. To stand at the top of the world and to look up. . . to see that one has conquered nothing but mere earth and the firmament stretched yet farther, farther into an unknown and immeasurable, could but fling one into despair.

The sacred village of Alga was high atop a peak in the perilous Fungi mountain chain. For such a secluded place, it felt so naked to be about that village, for the tree-line receded a few leagues below the start of the village proper. Rocks, a variety of lichen, a lost goat or two accompanied the curious little lean-tos scattered all over a single main street. The monastery of Hyphae, carved from the very mountain, towered over all this, was silent and taciturn. The air it breathed was thin, stringent. It reeked of maddening freedom and an ever-lurking peril.

Panic or fear, neither rose to grip his heart. Instead, the lone Uchiha became deathly still, awareness converging to a pinpoint, his sense heightened, stretched taut, the infamous Sharingan poised on the verge of flaring into action.

A tremor, somewhere, and a fissure gave. He flickered from sight and appeared a stone-throw away, a tiny puff of minuscule ice crystals mushrooming from his feet. The woman looked harmless, diminutive in her undyed woolen cloak, the pink wisps of hair escaping from the confines of her shawl incongruous against the bleak background. Nonetheless, it was good she didn't startle—he might have found himself hurtling thousands of feet into a chasm, for she was standing precariously on a sliver of rock that passed as a bridge between two outcropping. She stared at him—it was almost startling to see turquoise on such plainness—a certain expression on her face, a certain set of words hovering over her lips.

He beat her to it.

"Aren't you supposed to know better?" he asked, his voice level, despite the savage ire mounting in his chest.

Anybody else would have missed it, but he saw her eyes harden, her mouth thin, before she countered with a question of her own, her tone friendly.

"You haven't been stalking about like this around the cloister, have you? The monks might start thinking assassins and what-nots. Kinda puts me on the spot, you know."

"Your mission may be complete, but mine isn't," he pointed out, then chose not say more. A few years from being thirty, he thought himself a little wiser in dealing with. . . human affairs. Haruno Sakura was an accomplished enough kunoichi (legendary in some circles, he admitted grudgingly) to be offended, had she known what ran in his thoughts. He on the other knew that even with all his experience and expertise, even if impossibly he somehow had access to harness all the power he had ever amassed his entire life, there would still be some things he could be powerless to stop, or change, or make happen. Incidental thing, little things, inconsequential things in the greater order but cataclysmic in his. . . things that had little chance of happening, but were still, still not impossible.

"If you've been acting more in character, I'd remember," she grumbled, following after him as he lead the way back to the quarters their hosts set apart for a young married couple out on a religious pilgrimage. On second thought, he stopped and extended a hand behind him. She took this with a barely bridled enthusiasm, and clung to him as if happy.

"Your hand is cold," he remarked. It sounded like an accusation even to his ears.

"Ah," she said. "I left my gloves in the room. And actually, I had a scarf about my nose and mouth too, but I did away with it when I was walking around the village street. Covered faces make them nervous."

"A previous experience with ninjas?"

"Cultists, actually." Sakura chuckled. "They had asked for Konoha services before."

He had heard about that. It was why the monks had specifically asked for her when they posted the job in Konohagakure no Sato.

"I was only an apprentice at that time. It's kinda cool to be remembered that way though. Positively, I mean."

"Must have made a mark."

She thought about this. "I did desecrate a male-only library. I was fourteen at that time, but they forgave me because they said I was flat-chested."

". . ."

"It's illogical, I know. I actually grew a cup-size that year, too. Anyway, that mission was with Lee-san and Tenten-chan. I substituted for Neji. The job was to find the cultists that apparently infiltrated the monastery. We did find them, but we also discovered that one of the novices was hiding a little girl, some minor noblewomen he smuggled out of a failed state. The monk that I came here to heal. . . well, he's not really a he."

Sasuke didn't meet this "he," this mysterious patient, but it was obviously someone she had known when she was younger. Fourteen years old. . . Almost fifteen years ago. A long time, time enough for a prodigal son to come back, to acquire a tentative sort of forgiveness, to keep changing. What was he doing at that time, while she was building bonds with her fellow ninja? Decimating Orochimaru's reserve corps, more than likely. Those later days in Sound, it was hard to get enough practice.

"I had to remove one of her ovaries, though," Sakura murmured. "The other one's fine, of course. She'll still be able to bear children, should she decide to leave the monastery and go back to her old kingdom or something."

"In other words, they hired an S-class ninja to operate on a princess disguised as a holy man, instead of simply sending for a doctor."

"And dragging you all the way to the top of the world to serve as part of her lame cover?" Sakura added with a good-natured laugh. "Yes, I'm afraid so."

The truth was, he had volunteered to play her husband. A cheaper ninja could have come with her. Any prudent shinobi would have done the job. Nobody would look twice at a fairly well-off young couple coming thousands of miles to a monastery linked to miraculous blessings of fertility.

"I suppose I should light a few incense sticks," he said. "While I'm at it."

Sakura didn't answer for a few moments. Silently, she swung the hand he held in his.

"You know, Sasuke," she said haltingly. "That might not be necessary."

"No?" he returned. "I was thinking about future ones, enough to reinstate a clan. And the success of this one, naturally."

She topped her walk abruptly, their arms suddenly stretched taut between them. He looked back at her and was met with a sort of grimace, a curious expression.

Then, unexpectedly, she laughed.

"I should have known you knew!" she exclaimed, deliciously amused. "You were so being pesky these past few weeks."

Pesky? Sasuke was a tad affronted.

"Hovering around, trailing me," Sakura elaborated. "I thought you were just jealous of that chuunin who has a mini-crush on me. I should have known when you volunteered for this mission–without pay, at that."

"You were just going to let me guess?" he demanded, suddenly angry.

"No." She was serious suddenly, edging closer as if to placate him.

"Why?" Why the sudden silence and secrecy? Why, when she relentlessly probed him with her eyes? Why, when he could feel snatches of anger and resentment coming from her? To hell with that second-rate med student! Sasuke didn't even notice that slimy bastard; he was occupied with languishing in the uncertainty her body language constantly emanated.

"I just wanted to be sure," she whispered. He knew it wasn't just the unexpected pregnancy she spoke of.

"And?" he prompted hoarsely.

"I love you."

His heart started beating again.

"Is that okay with you?" she asked uneasily.

He countered with another question, an attempt to keep himself in one piece. "You went out walking in the middle of a snow storm to figure that out?"

"I waited till it was almost done," she protested, the apprehensive wrinkle on her forehead easing somewhat. "And it's not the slippery kind of snow." She lifted her boot, and stamped once with relish. "Fine powder. Like confectioners' sugar."

"You just wanted to play," he accused. "You should know better than that."

"It never snows in Konohagakure no Sato," she said girlishly. "Though it does get very cold there, some winters. Some years."

Something about this made him want to pull her closer, and so he went against his nature, and did so. His arm around her shoulder was rather awkward at first, what with the amount of clothes they were both bundled in. She relaxed and shifted slightly, and it became a little bit more comfortable. The amused smile came creeping back to her lips.

"Is this staying in character?" she teased.

"Among other things," he said irritably.

"Say, Sasuke-kun." She lapsed into her childhood form of addressing him, as she often did when she was in an affectionate mood. "Since you're not getting paid for this mission, maybe you can ask them to marry us for free."

"If you want to get killed by your parents, and shishou, and the loud-mouthed baka who happens to be your Hokage, go ahead."

"That's just too bad, but we can always hold another one for them. This place is better than a ski resort! We can be one of the few ninjas to actually experience a proper honeymoon trip."

He muttered something like, "don't be ridiculous," admonished her for being loud enough to set off a couple of avalanches down below, and told her to shut up.

When that didn't quite work, he kissed her instead.

0623 121907

AN: that's as fluff as it gets, right? Ugh.


	26. On Bedmates and Drinking Partners safe

Disclaimer: Naruto, old and borrowed and not mine.

**On bedmates and drinking partners**

(clean version)

_Dormant Muses challenge / community activity  
Dear Santa: The December Anonymous Writing Challenge  
request reads as follows:  
drabble, one-shot, snippet, whatsoever  
Pairing and Series: From Naruto, Sasusaku  
Prompt: knitted fabric  
Genre: Romance.  
(AND I COMPEL YOU TO WRITE.)_

Despair was a poor drinking companion. It rendered each libation an unceremonious dunking into the brackish water of oblivious Lethe, but only for a few fleeting moments. It was like drowning in an abysmal well, but with lungs that never quite fill up with water. It was to have one's eyes coated with an inky translucence through which one could still make out silhouettes. It was stopping one's ears with one's fingers, which wouldn't really stop whatever hateful sounds one had wanted to elude in the first place.

Uchiha Sasuke thus rarely lingered over wine cups. He took alcohol for formalities and ceremonies, a toast for each newborn child, for example, each Konoha nin returned alive. Whatever sorrows he would own to, he drowned with strong black tea. (He was also known to drown anger with blood--an ally's or an enemy's, he was supposedly indiscriminate, making him a sinister, controversial choice for chief of the recently revived military police---he had never deigned to address such accusations.) For the most part, however, he didn't seem to have much need of any sort of panacea. He had enough of the simple contentment to balance with the innate ambition that had always been his driving force in life. Homey routines boxed his vision into a narrow set of tracks: there wasn't an unending road to look at, to wonder what lay beyond the rest of it swallowed by the horizon. There wasn't a monster of a mountain to gaze up to, to dream of climbing and conquering. It was just every day living, each day not quite the same, but each one bearing an echo of another before it.

A whirl of faces, places. A pattern on cloth, repetitive, minimally variable. A fabric knitted by hand, unfinished, in progress. . . Such was his life.

Despair was no good either, as a bed mate. It subtracted rest from sleep; sometimes, there's none of even the latter left. It distorted time, such that an hour was an eternity, a heartbeat was the lifetime of a galaxy. It reduced the world to a dense, impenetrable box and one's sluggish brain, with one not knowing which was imprisoned within which.

Sasuke thrived on toil, be it physical labor or an exercise of the mind. He threw himself to his work relentlessly. In this way, he had little time left to ponder on his station in life, on what had been and what should have been, on what he had done and not done. Not that he didn't ponder at all. He simply didn't do it enough to allow the myriad of conflicting thoughts to nudge his hands. It was how he remained grounded, calm, steady. Yet, Sasuke didn't slept by himself. (Nights were most dangerous, see. One could get lost in its shadowed convolutions. To explore without the aid of sunlight, be it a mundane foreign territory for a reconnaissance mission or a brooding internal monologue, one ran the risk of getting irredeemably lost.) He kept himself occupied in bed, be it by simply holding her in his arms or by indulging in something more involved, more pleasurable.

(By "her," he did not mean Despair, though sometimes, he couldn't help but project it on her, couldn't help but qualify his despair through hers---she despaired, too, of course she did. Her light eyes, the shadow underneath them, gave it away, no matter how she tried to hide it. )

It was late at night when he arrived home, but for once he didn't stink of the usual hunt. There was a gathering in one of the great shinobi houses of Konohagakure no Sato, another celebration for another birth. Sasuke felt he had lost count of his peers' offspring long ago. At times, he felt like he had to wade through toddlers and infants before being able to speak to a comrade about a mission or something similar. There's a certain shifting of loyalties now, vague minuscule differences in what was important and what wasn't so.

There was a little less demand for explanations, too---only a little bit. And when none could be given, most friends were a tad more willing to take an answer on sheer faith, a tad more apt to simply establish a plan B, a safety net. (They wove this by hand, too. Daily. Slowly.) They were all older, but not always as wise as they were supposed to be. But they were wary.

They were all wary.

She had gone home several hours earlier than he did. She wasn't tired (not more so than most of them) nor did she dislike the company, but she also had one of those infants and toddlers afoot. She was wary, too, and in her case, she worried about the draft and the agents of decay that rode on crackling airships of orange and brown, settling by piles on the hardening earth. She worried about upper respiratory infections, bronchitis, and pneumonia, croup and whooping cough, and a whole basket of medical phrases that were meaningless to him. He listened to her, and briefly worried as well, even though he secretly maintained the belief that she could cure anything and everything, especially little childhood diseases that had nothing at all on extensive bodily damage from some elite blood limit jutsu, things even rival ninja villages would come begging for her interventions.

His son was already asleep when he arrived home. Shun was lying on his side, a fist bunched up near a puckered mouth, as if he only was barely resisting suckling on that thumb. He was clothed warmly with the colors of the house, midnight blues and slivers of whites and reds. The bonnet that covered the head-full of dark hair was an incongruous pink, however, a handmade little thing created by his mother before he was born. (For the first three months, Sakura was firmly convinced that she was definitely getting a girl. Later, she reasoned that pink was a masculine color in some cultures and continued to knit minuscule clothing that matched the tint of her hair, a hobby he found exasperating some nights.) Sasuke stood before the crib for uncounted minutes, riveted by the steady rise and fall of the infant's abdomen. It was like knitting, like living. A set group of actions, a pattern, repetitive and minimally variable. He ran a finger along an arm, across the forehead, very lightly, very gently, then detached himself and headed for the bathroom.

His hair lay limply about his head, when he came out later. The heat from his shower emanated deliciously from his body, though he himself felt the glib touch of cold air rushing quick to cool him down. He ignored this, as he tended to do with weather on a whole, and stood by the bed for more uncounted minutes, wearing only a pair of midnight blue pajama bottoms, the top piece of which was slung on a door knob somewhere. She was lying on her side in the middle of the bed, wrapped in sheets, bone white under moonlight. The comforter was bunched up about her knees, tossed aside, perhaps, at some point during the night. Abandoned beside her were three wool balls, skewered by knitting needles, and the beginnings of another project. Sasuke could make out a pattern on it, the beginnings of a paper fan, he supposed, and he moved them to the bedside table, instead of the tempting option of chucking everything out the window.

She stirred when he finally settled on his side of the bed, a glint of emerald through a grayish mop, accompanied by his murmured name. He inched nearer her and pulled up the comforter to cover them both. He stopped midway and yanked out the sheets to be able to wiggle into its folds. It peeled open to reveal a creamy shoulder and the beguiling hint of her neck. He pressed his windburned lips on her shoulder and then on the tender flesh just over her pulse point. She shifted slightly and now lay supine, then she pulled him down to her and kissed him briefly.

"Wet your lips," was the sleepy command that followed.

He took this as an invitation for something more, and busied his hands even as he leaned down once again and imperiously made her moisten his lips herself. She seemed a little more awake that second time, leaning her body against his touch, a short hitching moan escaping from her throat as he delved deeper with his tongue. One of his hands found purchase on one of her breasts when her fingers began twining about his damp hair, her strong hands lightly massaging his temples. With some difficulty, she pushed him away after a few moments, a barely detectable furrow between her brows as she scrutinized his expressionless face under the low ambient nightlight.

"What's wrong, Sasuke?" she asked. Any break from his usual patterns made her a tad apprehensive. Spontaneity, he supposed, wasn't something he usually went for.

"Nothing," he said and relocated his hands to safer parts of her anatomy.

He broke free to reposition himself, to remove the full brunt of his weight from her body. A spattering of kisses he distributed about her face as he did so, tangling his hand with hers, tracing her waist with the other. It was a little too warm, he realized, so he knocked away the comforter he had earlier pulled about them. He resumed scattering his kisses, beginning from the tip of her chin, up her jawline, and unto an ear; then, open-mouthed, he went down her neck, to her clavicle, and back to the shoulder with which he started.

"I thought you said we'd wait," she said suddenly.

"I don't care. Can you really plan these things?"

She leaned her head to his direction, an oddly petulant pose that profiled her face against the moon. He obliged and again their lips met, timidly on her part, lazily on his. After a final, more zealous, nip at his bottom lip, she pulled away, breathless.

"I don't mind," she murmured, pulling their joined hands to her chest. "But if Shun wakes up. . ."

"The first one to finish will go."

"But only if you last, Sasuke-kun," she quipped.

--

Floating away in a river of bliss would be a way to say it, but no notion could have been more furtively or swiftly kicked aside. Uchiha Sasuke had been retrieved from depths of sleep by the piercing cry he had come to know the past four months, only awake enough to reject the saccharine thought that came to him with consciouness. He remained motionless, eyes closed, but his senses were alert, probing.

His wife of three years stirred beside him.

"First one to finish, you said."

He didn't answer.

"Playing possum on a mednin?" she continued drowsily. "Really, Sasuke-kun."

He stood up and silently padded to the adjoining room, where his son bawled in the sturdy crib Sakura built herself. Sasuke picked up the child from the crib; Shun quieted almost immediately. He looked up at his father, unsmiling, but with eyes bright with interest, as he always did. Sakura had been concerned about this peculiar behavior of the baby, but she was assuaged by the fact that Shun giggled and babbled at her, usually smiling when other people played with him. But not so with Sasuke. Shun did watch his father intently, often holding out his tiny hands before him to grab at a nose, or an ear, or a stray lock of hair. He matched his father's silences, however, and it was oddly this silence that pacified him when distressed. Sakura once laughingly observed that her two boys seemed to have similar effects on each other. Sasuke had told her to shut up, embarrassed that the wonder he thought only lurking in his heart was somehow transparent to her. She didn't seem to take offense (she rarely did) and had merely hidden her smile amicably.

"I think this is one of the reasons you gave when we said we'd wait before making Shun brothers and sisters," her voice broke into his reverie.

He didn't feel her coming. (Usually, he didn't miss anything. At the back of his mind, this alarmed him slightly. The foothold he had allowed her years and years ago was now nonexistent. Hell. She practically ruled the entire territory.) He looked up at her as she glided towards him, fixing the same quiet stare on her. She had on the nightgown he had divested earlier. Judging from the spattering of water on her face and arms, she had evidently made a side-trip to the bathroom.

"This is one of the reasons we shouldn't wait," he corrected.

She blinked in surprise at this pronouncement, but pleasure speedily suffused her visage. "I don't know," she said, green eyes sparkling in the low light. "I sort of remember you complaining about lack of sleep and such."

The infant began to whimper once more, and Sasuke was spared from having to think of an appropriate comeback. Shun stretched his arms towards his mother, who had sidled up his father to smile tiredly down at him. Again the baby wailed piteously, so Sasuke gave him up to his wife.

"Hungry, I think," Sakura murmured, as she sat down and bared a breast. "It's time, anyway."

Sasuke watched wordlessly, standing over them like a sentinel, naked but for his boxers. Eventually, he noticed Sakura watching him back.

"Aren't you cold?"

"No."

The lapsed back to silence. They remained in the statuesque tableau until Shun finished feeding, was burped, and eventually fell asleep. His mother, scattered lavish kisses about the top of his head, and placed him back in his crib, his blankets judiciously arranged.

"You'll be changing his diaper later, right, Sasuke-kun?" Sakura suddenly said, as they were going back to bed.

Sasuke grunted in assent.

"You know, that sleep thing. . . You should be careful with making those grand sweeping pronouncements. Next time, stick with a more reasonable bet."

He shrugged vaguely. "Next time, I'll simply make sure I don't lose."

Sakura laughed gamely, as she snuggled against him, her head heavy on his chest. "Well, we'll see about that," she said. "But not tonight, Sasuke-kun. As wonderful as it was, no more tonight, ne?"

There was no place for despair in this house.

12:29:23 AM 2008-01-11

Cleaned this up because FFnet prohibits NC-17 stuff. Link for that version on profile page for those who wants to (and _can,_ mind you) read it.


	27. It

Disclaimer: Borrowing. No money involved, etc.

**It**

_February 26: we deceive ourselves_

It starts with the opening of one's eyes---to high noon, to midnight, one sees shadow first. It lends contrast to the cheeriest of mornings (even by merely hinting at its peripheries: profiling a loved one's face against the young sun, giving tone to the chrysanthemum-gold of lace curtains). It morphs the nullity of darkness into a three-dimensional existence, quantifies nothingness into degrees, salvages even the dredges of humanity.

It creates perspective.

Sakura sees it underneath his mythic eyes, even when he gives her the rare smiles she's gradually earned monopoly over. They share beds when their circumstances manage to overlap; she knows he doesn't sleep well, doesn't wake well.

(She wonders if he sleeps at all when he's by himself in that edifice he calls 'house.' Yes, he tells her, necessity has incontestable sovereignty even over his ilk. It affects efficiency, he says.

Sometimes.)

Sasuke never sees it, not in the hard agates of her fiercest ires, not in the virid beryls of her sheerest joys, not in all her sadnesses. In this respect, she transcends even his reputed opacity, his impenetrable mask, (husk).

He isn't fooled, just as she isn't.

He lets it lie, as does she.

1646 022608


	28. Expiation AU

Disclaimer: Naruto is the property of one ebil, ebil man named Kishimoto Masashi, whose gargantuan work I badly need to catch up on.

**Expiation**

_dormant muses challenge: We've Seen THAT Before (The Overused Plot Lines Challenge)_  
_ 4. A gets hurt or gets sick, B takes care of him/her. _  
_ Plus points: if they aren't together yet, and they learn they love each other_  
_ 11. Emo/angst fics, where the narrator or main character wallows in too much personal grief._

(Alternate Universe)

The piercing fluorescent lights gave an aseptic finish to the polished concrete floor, but somehow left shadows to nip the periphery of the long narrow passageway that connected the main hospital building to the emergency department. There were other, less convoluted paths available, but she didn't feel like walking through the chaos of the E.R. tonight, not with the succession of wailing ambulances, the tell-tale whirring of an arriving helicopter, probably come to bring another vehicular collision victim, another bullet recipient. Not when she wasn't even on-call that night.

The universally-adored young doctor was easily recognizable by the staff, a fact she attributed to the unusual color of her hair, and no one would have questioned her presence. That was, if they even had time to notice her. As she predicted, she made it to the back of the department without even a polite nod from any of her colleagues.

The psychiatric holding unit only had two patients that night. Besides the sitter who was constantly watching them through several cameras, one of the nurses was there, too, probably passing the evening meds.

"Hey there, Nurse Nara," she greeted with a smile. Considering the size of this trauma E.R., she rarely worked often enough with any one nurse to be able to rightly associate a name with a face. Nara Shikamaru was an exception: exceptionally laid-back, exceptionally underachieving, exceptionally brilliant, and exceptionally perceptive.

"Hey, doc," he drawled lazily, training a critical eye on her. "Didn't expect to run into you this end of the hellhole."

"Oh, you know me." She reached for a chart and flipped through it. "Patient-centered care and all that."

"Thought you signed off this case months ago."

"I thought so, too." The doctor returned the clipboard to him. "Suicide by cop, they call it?"

"So they say." The fierce-looking man shrugged. "Wear the panic button, in any case, Dr. Haruno. Unit protocol."

She slipped the device into her coat pocket. "Happy?"

It could summon the security people, in case her safety became an issue inside the plain, white cell. She liked to think she wouldn't need it, but the hospital policies and procedure made it easier for her not to be so cavalier. Shikamaru nodded, then knocked the drowsing aide upside the head, suggesting he go take his dinner break now.

"Thanks."

It took her a few moments to adjust to the low lighting in the room, and sitting on the empty recliner under the sole dim light source didn't help. Her patient was sitting on the bed, an unmoving shadow among shadows.

"I thought I had medical clearance," came an ironic voice from the general direction of the darkened corner. "Aren't you people just waiting for an open spot in some nut-house?"

"Good evening, Mr. Uchiha," she replied mildly.

"Good evening, Dr. Haruno," he greeted, then swiftly changed his urbane tone. "Now, enough of the rigmarole: what do you want?"

He was surprisingly forthcoming, so she decided to return the favor. "To see for myself."

"What? Can't believe one of your projects didn't turn out as perfectly as usual?"

"I think this qualifies as a purely social visit," she said, still calm.

"Oh? Visiting hours was over two hours ago."

"As far as they're concerned, I am following up on a patient I have performed several major surgeries on." Her voice was frosty.

"And as far as we're concerned, you're here to assuage some unwarranted guilt feelings."

"To see you for myself," she corrected firmly. "You look better. Amazingly."

"Considering I was waking up from weeks of drug-induced coma and had a hole in my skull drilled by the youngest, most celebrated neurosurgeon of this medical center the last I saw you, I can believe that."

"How have you been, Sasuke?"

"What? Didn't do your research before coming in here?"

_Major Depressive Disorder with Psychotic Features_, bits of the psychiatrist's evaluation flashed in her head. Blood work, CT scans, MRIs. . . all the tests were either negative or bore no changes from the previous ones from months ago, but he wouldn't necessarily rule out an organic cause to the patient's delusional paranoia. . . "You told them the truth?" she asked carefully.

He laughed, the rustling of the rough hospital sheets easily swallowed by the alien sound. He laughed. "For all your faults," he said, now sitting at the edge of the bed. "You're still easily the sweetest thing alive."

"For all your faults, you still--"

"Make you weak in the knees?" His sudden snarl rent the light atmosphere his honest amusement brought. "Is that why you persist in trying to _cure_ me, doctor? Or is it some god complex of yours? A few of your patients end up in a nursing home once in a while, don't they? It's about time you have one in the looney bin."

She glared at him. And it was so easily true, too. The soft incandescent light that shone from where she sat rendered him oddly, his bare chest easily becoming the marble bust of some mythological deity. It wasn't an entirely foreign sight to her, but there were changes here and there. He's obviously regained muscle mass and already there were new scars. Even the tensed rippling brought by his anger-fueled breathing riveted her.

He sighed, a huffing, unwilling little sound, and ran a hand through his dark mussed-up hair. "I will try to talk to you, if that's what you want," he finally said, rising to his feet as he said so, towering over her, arms akimbo. "But you have to lose the lab coat."

She paused to peer up at him, puzzled. "You have white coat syn--"

"No." She thought she saw him roll his eyes. "And let's switch places. If somebody else asks me how I feel, I'll show them, so help me."

Hesitantly, the doctor stood up and unbuttoned her nearly threadbare white coat. Under it was a little cocktail dress, resplendent with emerald-hued butterflies, that seemed more congruent with the black designer stiletto sandals she was wearing. She felt critical eyes running over her from the figure now slouched on the recliner, and was tempted to blanket herself with the very coat she had divested at his command.

"Out on a fancy date, were you?" he commented. "Some obscenely-prized bistro uptown, with your young, hotshot lawyer?"

"Local art show with some of the O.R. nurses, actually," she returned airily. "Keep up, will you? Young hotshot lawyer was so years ago."

"Some, huh?"

"Don't make assumptions."

"As long as you follow the same rule."

"Fine. Why are you still here?"

"I thought you said you did read up."

"I know why they're keeping you here," she retorted. "Why are you letting them?"

He gestured to the small white room in general.

"You could escape whenever you want to."

"Are you suggesting I'm hiding from somebody?"

"No. I've learned that you can't really hide from the sort of people you tend to cross. Now, if my hospital is in any dan--"

"Relax. I'm on vacation. Think I deserve one, after doing my last mission a little too well."

"Were you committing suicide?" she asked bluntly.

"And now you're suggesting I was trying to get your attention with my little stunt with the local cops. I assure you, I have more direct ways, had I wanted to."

"Was it suicide?" she repeated harshly.

"Sakura."

"You told me not to assume."

"Is that how much you've reduced me in your mind?"

"Your brother is dead, Sasuke. You've done what you've set out to do. I'll be surprised if you're not suffering from a little anomie."

"Anomie!" he spat viciously. "You're seriously believing the little notes those pompous shits have been writing? Let me guess. Axis I: Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Axis II: Borderline Personality Disorder. Axis III--"

"What do you want me say?" she snapped. "I thought you had jumped off the nearest bridge when you realized you no longer had a reason to live, now that you've killed Itachi--"

"Itachi has never been the be all, end all."

"I never thought so; you did."

"What do you want me to say?" he hissed, unwittingly echoing her, his contorted face inches away from hers. He had lunged at her, and she didn't even see him coming. What good was the panic button against such a man? "Thanks a lot for saving my life? Why did you do it, anyway?"

"I do not choose whoever lives or dies," she grounded out. "I do not choose whom to treat, whom to leave behind. It could have been you in that operating table; it could have been your brother. You happened to have survived long enough to be rescued. You were the one brought to this E.R. You were the one brought to me that night with a bullet lodged in your frontal lobe."

"But you liked it, didn't you?" he taunted, grabbing her by a forearm to keep her in place. "You liked holding my naked brain in your hands, liked the power it conferred you. After years of chasing after Uchiha Sasuke, you had him in front of you, vulnerable, dying." His grin turned even more malicious. "Did it turn you on?"

"You sick bastard!" She twisted, attempting to crawl away. He locked her in place, pinned both her arms where they were easiest to control, easiest to dislocate. She felt the harshness of his breathing on the rhythmic movement of his vast-seeming chest against her back, the erratic puffing of hot air against her neck. "Why would I look for you? Have you been deluding yourself all those years, thinking I was sitting pretty in that dead-end small town, waiting for you to return from your quest for the bloody holy grail?"

"What man wouldn't?" This time, his voice dropped to a mere whisper, but the trickle of words fell from behind one of her ears, dribbled ice down her spine. "I dreamed of you a lot while I was a trainee. I thought it was the stress making me lose my mind."

The strange confession took her off-guard. "You've always said I was a nuisance," she accused. "Even that night, when we were seventeen, when you ran away. Six months ago, before you disappeared again. Don't fuck with me!"

"But I _liked_ fucking you," he continued smoothly. "It was a good two months, convalescing in your mansion, listening to you dream in your nightly regimented five-hour sleep, manipulating the tiniest nerves in your lithe little body. . . I think I might just give you what you want."

Her efforts on kicking the life out of him quivered, stilled. ". . . Just shut the hell up, you damnable liar." Her struggles ensued. "I don't want to hear it!"

"I came here for you," he murmured, as if she wasn't trying her best to rupture his spleen with a heel. "To tell you. Even before you performed your risky, avant-garde procedure. Even before I joined the black ops. Even before I virtually eliminated all the mafiosi of this god-forsaken city. Even before I took Itachi's bullet between by eyes: I'm fucked up. I have been, for a while now. It runs in families. I can't be fixed."

"Just, just--"

"Just say it, Sakura," he rasped in her ear, despair, despair seeping through the cracks. "Say it."

She concentrated on breathing, shut her eyes when she saw her clawed hand disintegrating into some surreal still life. She concentrated. She breathed.

"I'm offering you closure." His voice was harsh now, commanding, inexorable. "Say it!"

"I HATE YOU!"

She meant it. She meant it with every cell in her body, every functional neuron in her brain.

"Say it again," he demanded. "Please."

"I hate you, Sasuke," she said obediently, brokenly. "I hate you."

"There." It was the damnedest, gentlest way he had ever spoken to her. "That wasn't so hard."

She didn't dignify it with an answer. As soon as he relinquished her, she pounced for the door. She didn't hurl out of it, though. She stood before it first, pulled herself back in place, straightened her clothes, her hair, her face. He made no move to stop her, merely retreated back to the shadows she had rudely taken him from earlier.

"I hate you, too," floated to her ear as she sedately walked out of the holding cell, was the only thing that indicated he was still there.

It was the last thing she heard before the door clicked shut.

_Uchiha Sasuke _  
_32 y.o. Male_  
_Axis I: Major Depressive Disorder with Psychotic Features_  
_ ? PTSD_  
_ Adjustment Disorder_  
_Axis II: deferred_  
_Axis III: s/p traumatic brain injury, 1 year._  
_ ? organic brain disease_  
_Axis IV: Parents were massacred by older brother, possibly while in a drug-induced psychosis._  
_High-ranking government official, unspecified rank/position. Was involved in a controversial manhunt for the suspected founder of a powerful weapon-trafficking gang. _  
_Axis V: 11 - Some danger of harming self or others, or occasionally fails to maintain minimal personal hygiene, or gross impairment in communication._

_Pt presented in E.R. via ambulance, boarded and collared, after moderate-speed impact to tree, with minimal damage to vehicle, escorted by military personnel. Pt was confused and combative on arrival, reportedly raving and violently conversing, possibly with hallucinations. Pt was chemically and physically restrained for safety and was cleared of any injuries after full body x-rays and CT of head, neck, and abdomen. _

_Pt has a history of blunt trauma to the head, status post fall from height of 15 feet, as well as a mid-range gun shot wound to the head, 17 months to date. Pt discharged from this hospital 12 months to date to rehabilitative facility, s/p decompressive craniectomy and phenobarbital-induced coma, with remarkably minimal neurological deficits. Pt discharged from rehabilitative facility 8 months to date, returning to his full responsibilities in an undisclosed government agency, under the care of an undisclosed family member/friend, who has not been successfully contacted since patient's admission. _

_Pt alert and awake this morning, with blunted affect. . ._

End. 050508 1930


	29. 31 and other milestones lemonine

Disclaimer: Needless to say, I am just borrowing Masashi Kishimoto's world and the characters therein. It has no monetary value whatsoever. I swear.

Warning: There's a part that's technically a lemon but it's all very, er, figurative.

**Thirty-One (and other milestones)**

_For the Church of Lemon Drive 2009 - February 19_

It was, pardon the cliched observation, a beautiful March night. The signs of spring have been encroaching his wintery estate for weeks now; today they finally bloomed. He could see the outline of the dainty flowers that cause the air in his room to be so balmy, faint pink in daylight, but a blazing white against the silvery mix of moonlight and darkness. The bough upon which one lone bud rested swayed sinuously with the wind, a fluid repetitive movement that should be nowhere near as tantalizing as he felt it was. Tap, tap, tap, it went against the glass, doing no good to his sanity or his plan of getting a full eight-hour sleep for once. Absently, he wondered if he managed to drink enough that night.

He rolled out of bed even before the banging on his front door started. At any other time, he might have ignored them and slept on—an attempt long enough to salvage his dignity, at least. Even after all this time, he wouldn't easily admit to being part of their "debriefing" sessions, and so resisted their invitations long and hard. Failing that, he could always give them the warm welcome they deserved. The village tribunal never took his side in these trespassing complaints, anyway, so he was well within his rights to protect his own property through a little roughhousing.

It wasn't common knowledge, but he did expend pent-up frustrations in aggressive horseplay, like any other healthy man his age. People tend to disbelieve such a notion, not because he was thought too sensible for it. Everyone assumed he just beat the crap out of drunken colleagues out of sheer sadistic enjoyment. Admittedly (and ironically), this low entertainment value was contributory to its continued high incidence. It was like indulging in those sappy soap operas housewives and househusbands like to follow. See, active duty ninja have a different view on what constituted light, harmless fun.

"Sasuke!" came the chorus as soon as he appeared at the already open door. "We're out of work tomorrow. Let's get wasted!"

Not a bad idea, all things considered.

"By the way, we already got kicked out of the regular spot," one of them said. "Somebody was getting rowdy."

"And we're not even buzzed yet!" chimed the other in disappointment. "This peace thing is getting annoying."

"Just because you broke it, dipshit."

"Weren't you the moron who got into a fight?" snapped the third. "Fine example, you are."

"It was a domestic dispute, okay?"

"Domestic, my ass. And shouldn't you have some sort of immunity? Imagine someone like you being thrown out of a tavern."

"I'm in disguise, stupid!"

"Come on, Uchiha, you're the only one who owns an entire ghost street and not likely to get us arrested by the MP's for disturbing sleeping people with assignments tomorrow. I'm like inches away from court-martial, you know?"

Uchiha Sasuke, with his usual brevity, declined with choice words.

"And don't forget you owe me money."

"Fine," the exhausted-looking jounin snapped. "Fine! But I set house rules."

"Aww," crowed three full-grown shinobi. "You're the best, Sasu-chan!"

Sadly, their rendition of love-struck pubescent girls was not taken in kind.

--

"_Dammit, what the hell—!"_

'_I said, don't misunderstand me!"_

_He glared at her._

_She glared right back. "You're getting paranoid by this universal-seeming jump into matrimony. Geeze..."_

"_A woman has only a number of reproductive years," he retorted. "You tell me that every chance you get."_

"_Oh, hush," she said distractedly. "I'm not going to marry you. You know that. But I do love you, stupid. And you love me back—don't you deny it!"_

--

"How many mednins does it take to tell a thirty-year old jounin that he should not spar, especially with three other equally drunk jounin, while under the influence of alcohol?" thundered the piercing white light. "None! Absolutely none. It will do absolutely no good, because thirty-year-old jounin are too high and mighty to listen to sensible advice from their betters, particularly female ones."

Ah, no. It was not the voice of God coming to redress him for his grievous sins. He has been becoming superstitious in his dotage, but his version of the Alpha and Omega wouldn't be talking about drunken revelries on the day of reckoning. He'd have a list of more serious offenses to tackle, ad infinitum.

"And how many mednins does it take to screw a light bulb in place?" the invective continued. "One, Sasuke, just one. One, royally pissed, Haruno Sakura will screw a light bulb up your ass in hopes of detecting some kind of electrical activity before I declare you brain dead, because your hollow skull is abysmally lacking any sign of being operational."

"There was a time I thought you pure and innocent," he said dryly, squinting at the penlight she was shining in his eyes.

"Correction: you thought me dumb, clingy, and annoying. My brain didn't start denaturing when _I_ turned thirty."

"Eleven months and three weeks ago. Stop referring to it every other sentence."

"It's a milestone. Particularly since I seem to be the only one acting my age around here."

"_They_ trespassed into my property at two in the morning."

"And I suppose drinking till you pass out qualifies as defending one's turf. Kiba, the Hokage, and that seedy chuunin guy–"

"Miho."

"Him–is one thing. But you guys went out of your way to rope in Lee-san. Lee-san! How many times do I have to stress that Lee-san and alcohol cannot mix without resulting in fatalities?"

"There wasn't one." Although, for a moment, he did have his doubts.

"If you don't stop squirming around while I examine you, you will be one."

He stilled, in hopes of shutting her up. "Where's that bastard dobe?" he asked, automatically going through the motions of the physical exam without her prompting.

"That bastard dobe, who happens to be necessary in the daily function of our government, is a few steps away from delirium tremens." Her voice was irritated, but it was in a more reasonable volume now. "How can you goad him into a drinking contest, Sasuke? You know he has a tendency to take things too far when it comes to you."

"Like some other people."

Sakura ignored that. "Hinata wants an appointment with you, by the way, something about carving you up a new GI tract. Neji meanwhile wants to kiss you, for what he imagines to be the timely demise of his new kinsman."

"Passing on the latter. Former sounds tempting. Evisceration is a good way to go."

"Uh-uh. She plans on keeping you alive as long as possible. We have one unhappy bride in our hands here, even without your antics. Naruto hasn't exactly been staying put the past year, and I wouldn't blame her if she starts to feel a little unattended."

"Why? They didn't break her fingers when she got married."

"Oho! So you really do have a death wish. Even the Hokage's wife isn't safe from your tasteless, off-color humor. A nice young man like you should really stop hanging out with Kiba and those Body Cleaners. They're generally considered disreputable company."

"I'm an ex-missing nin, accused of indiscriminate molrowing and faking death."

"Oh, yeah, and you nearly bankrupted Konoha with all those life insurance claims."

"Of which I've yet to see a single penny."

"Don't hold your breath. I think they've used it up rebuilding the village twelve years ago."

They drifted into silence. Sakura finished her examination and didn't speak again until he was fully dressed once more.

"On a more serious note," she said, now eerily calm. This, he noted, was the pedantic tone she used when discussing terminal conditions with her apprentices. "You should be more. . . prudent, in phrasing your criticism of your team mates, your leaders, Konoha, and the world in general. I realize we all indulge in a little–"

"Bitching and moaning?"

"Verbalizing, once in a while, but your remarks are passive death-wishes. Depression among the ranks is unavoidable, but having someone who could go in a suicidal rampage any day, and take out half the village, with the elite of Konoha is unacceptable."

"Are you telling me this for my genetic predisposition to suicidal rampages, or did you get another memo from the old farts?"

"Sasuke, this is case in point." She ran a hand along her temple, dislodging a chunk of pink hair from the precarious knot she had tied on her crown. It fell across her face, over the hard crease in between her eyebrows. "The Rokudaime can get away with calling the elders old farts. You haven't the fraction of immunity he has. As much as it pains me to call your attention to this matter, it would be better if you hear it from me."

"Noted. I'll throw in a smile the next time I grovel to a customer."

"Sasuke—"

"I thought you stepped off your soapbox when you started your Uchiha-are-notorious-blights-to-Leaf jokes."

"We're worried about you."

"I don't detect an ounce of pain in your diagnosis, so forgive my skepticism."

"Listen, I'd love to play word games with you all day, but I can't. The same way I can't sit with you for hours trying to figure out why . . . " She dropped off and smoothed her features into a benign expression. He didn't miss the resentment that lanced across her eyes before she succeeded.

"Infuriating, isn't it?" he offered. The snarl was a little over the top, but he didn't manage to bite it back completely. "All these years, you haven't figured out a formula to predict my behavior."

It was an old accusation, one he hasn't made in a long time. There was a time he entertained the notion she merely kept close to keep an eye on him for the higher ups. He didn't believe it then, he didn't believe it now, but it served well as a weapon when he wanted a barb that stung badly enough stun her into silence.

"What's the prognosis, doctor?" he prompted.

"Don't you dare mock me, Sasuke. You know that I know there is something wrong, so don't even try fucking with my head." The celadon of her stare burned as she grounded out her next words. "I know, you have bad days sometimes, as do everybody. You, you periodically descend into these dark moods for weeks at a time, but this has gone on for too long! And what about that last mission? I can't imagine what you were thinking, if you were at all."

"Three of the warlords the village tribunal had been salivating for were within a horse-ride from each other. I took the initiative to rid the world of them."

"By yourself! You only had resources for _one_ assassination at that time, not to mention their retinue of ronin warriors are already famous for their successful defense against a number of ninja operations."

"This isn't about the assassinations."

"You're right, it's not. High-risk behavior, Sasuke! Do you know how closely you're being watched right now? They're afraid of defection."

"This isn't about defection."

"Right again. This is passive suicide. I think you'll end up dead, one way or another."

"Oho, will you be tying me up now? Kinky, but not to my taste."

"You bas–"

He caught her fist as it flew to his face. The force threw both of them back against a bookcase, smashing the sturdy hardwood and scattering scrolls all over. This seemed to bring her back to a more reasonable frame of mind, for she pulled back her arm, the clinical detachment totally gone from her face. He didn't loose her.

"I never knew _friendship_ connoted some perverse ownership," he told her.

"What?" She seemed genuinely puzzled.

"How to speak, how to think, how to feel . . . How about telling me how to shit, while you're at it?"

"You are missing the point!" she exploded. "The point is–"

"The point is," he interrupted coolly. "You've already relinquished all rights to interfering with my life."

She froze, as she realized what this, ultimately, was really all about.

"Stay out of it," he said, almost gentle. He released her wrist, pushed her back a little, zipped up his flak jacket, and picked his way through the fallen documents.

"W-wait, Sasuke-kun," she said. "Is this about that time? That day you—"

"So I'm Sasuke-kun again, huh?" he asked ironically. "No, not that day." Not solely, anyway. He'll be damned for admitting that much.

"That night then. A couple of nights after Naruto got married." She stared after him wide-eyed. "That night we talked about closure. About you and your unwillingness to be happy. About you growing hemorrhoids and the world losing a perfect asshole."

"Aa. I'm working on getting the title back. Preparation H hasn't been doing the job."

"Sasuke, wait. Please . . . Let's talk about this."

"I've imposed long enough, doctor. You haven't the time to play word games all day with me, let alone try to figure out what's going on up here."

He tapped his forehead to punctuate the dismissal and left before she could utter another comeback.

See? He still won them sometimes.

---

"_It was Naruto who inspired Hinata to transcend herself, to not only be better, but to _be_. He was her guiding light, her endmost goal, her star..._

"_He was . . . my _you_._

"_You remember that night, Sasuke-kun? When I tried to stop you from joining Orochimaru? That was... That was the beginning of an epiphany. When Naruto came home without you, lightning struck._

"_So without you, Sasuke-kun, I would have never become who I am now. Without you, I wouldn't have studied under Tsunade-sama, never would have become a mednin—yes, every wound I've stanched, every life I gave back, there was a you behind it—never would have become a piece in legend._

"_I would never have become me."_

---

It wasn't like it wasn't her fault.

Sasuke, however, had enough pride left to keep him from breaking down in a hissy fit and throwing the responsibility at her feet. Responsibility for what, he asked himself. It wasn't like there was anything wrong, whatever she thought, not fundamentally, not with him. She just caused a minor setback was all . . . all due to his own miscalculation, misinterpretation. He would recover in time, plot a new plan, build a new ambition. If he was sometimes getting carried away in missions, it was simply due to his competitive nature, not some melodramatic plea for death.

Thirty years was indeed a milestone, one many people, himself included, didn't expect him to reach. His adolescence, to say the least, was pricklier than most, but he survived. For the longest while, he merely subsisted from mission to mission, because it was easier to deal with life when compartmentalized in little packages that had an assigned rank, a list of objectives, and a price tag. Eventually, he came to appreciate living life for the moment —was surprised when it came from his own mouth: he _lived_—without having to obsesses about a long-term goal, to gauge himself against an ideal that wasn't quite the ideal he thought, and even slowly let the meddlesome people around him in for an occasional tea ceremony or lunch out in his vegetable garden. Due to his attuned ability to detach from his emotions (practice makes perfect) and a lot of free time in his hands, he had developed a philosophical outlook. The black and often crude humor was an unfortunate side-effect of his profession (probably, more so of the people he worked with), but it augmented his otherwise flat personality and convinced people he wasn't planning a one-man Armageddon each time he was sighted brooding.

Which was. . . often, he supposed. At any rate, he categorized himself as happy, as happy as anyone like himself, anyone with as much baggage, could be. He was not wanting in any basic need: food, clothing, shelter, people to fight. He maintained normal hobbies like reading, gardening, and hawking. He endured social responsibilities like attending gatherings and town meetings, substituting for a sick teacher in the Ninja Academy one in a while, or growing the prize tomato three years in a row. He had friends and people to get drunk with, not necessarily mutually exclusive.

Where did the discontent start?

To be precise, the discontent has always been there; for the most part, it had been something he could live with. But then, one night, almost a year ago, while they were making fun of their newlywed Hokage, she planted a notion in his mind.

She summarized neatly how integral they each were to each other's lives and reminded him of the other ambition his twelve-year-old self had set. Raising a family would be a nice, solid challenge, he acquiesced to her reasoning. It would be more interactive than raising a vegetable garden, for one thing, and she was a smart, capable woman who could be his able partner. They've built a certain rapport over the years. Their missions almost always reached excellent outcomes. And she was a more than tolerable companion . . .

The more he mused the notion over in his mind, the more it simply fit.

He wasn't delusional enough to think she offered to be his partner in such a project, but he thought her at least open to the idea. So when a few months ago, he dressed in his most formal robes, called on the Haruno home with a best friend and a mentor in tow, and asked for her hand from her family, he wasn't expecting her to burst out laughing with such tickled hilarity, even if she was slightly tipsy from the warmed sake. Needless to say, she thought the whole thing was their Trojan horse in their mission to crash the yearly Haruno drinking bash, and merely hugged him, kissed him on a cheek, and patted his back.

"I love you, man," she giggled. " No word in existence is sufficient to quantify just how much. That really was a good one, Sasuke."

It didn't help, of course, that "I love you," has become a perverse sort of teasing she whipped out at the worst of times, because it never failed to make him blanche and break out in cold sweat. That December day, he turned paper white for an entirely different reason, but of course, she didn't realize that till much later. Being the responsible woman that she was, she confronted him, apologized, and offered a respectful, "No." He was gracious about it, and dismissed it as cleanly as any failed business transaction.

And they all thought that was the end of it.

It wasn't, of course, not for him. He wasn't going to make an issue of it, because his pride remained intact, even if his dignity didn't. In retrospect, he was grateful when she called his behavior to his attention last week. He was determined to address the matter. It was one of the reasons why, despite being bone-tired from three days of S-class assignments, he managed to reach Konohagakure no Sato during the last few minutes of the 28th.

"Sasuke-kun," she said when she opened the door.

"Happy Birthday," he said.

"Thank you. How was your mission tonight?"

"Satisfactory. This Fire daimyo will last the season, at least."

"That's good to hear."

Stage one was cleared. Now, he needed to survive the remainder of the party. He would simply blend in with the few remaining guests, answer a few polite inquiries on his health and career, then file out with the rest of them once its time to go home. The challenge came after: getting his regular five-hour sleep.

Sasuke's plans failed to come to fruition, probably because he wasn't able to resist the tall glass of punch that was offered to him by one of the other guests. He should have known better not to accept suspiciously-hued drinks from one Yamanaka Ino, but the regretful thought became increasingly vaguer as he reached the bottom of his third glass. As it was, he did make a noble attempt to shuffle out with the rest of them, once the goodbyes and thanks-you's started. The world evidently was conspiring against him, and he managed to end up at the tail end of the exodus.

"I didn't think you'd come," Sakura said, after he politely greeted her once again.

"Why miss the chance to get drunk on free booze?" he answered with aplomb.

She smiled, Sasuke thought, because he and honesty rarely hooked up together.

"Where's the bastard dobe?"

"The bastard dobe went home early with Hinata-chan."

He nodded his approval. His bowels would remain intact another day.

"You're not leaving are you? You came so late, as it is."

"I have a mission tomorrow."

"Look, I fell for that last time–"

"Since honesty's becoming a nasty habit," he interrupted. "I might as well say it: yes, I'm avoiding you. Good night."

"Thank you," she said, surprisingly level. "That gives me reason to do this then!"

Sasuke felt the world move. Then he was lying on his back. Haruno Sakura's ceiling was peeling. She had been saving money to try to get it repainted. The last time he saw it, though, it wasn't spinning nearly as much. His hands weren't restrained over his head either, caught in her pincer grip.

"You are such a jerk, you know." It sounded suspiciously like a wail. "You won't even let me apologize."

"Apology accepted," he grunted, attempting to dislodge her from his diaphragm. She seemed to take the hint and slid down lower, right onto his stomach. The mixture of alcohol and bile seared his throat. "If you're trying to help me die–"

"I thought you were joking."

He tried a more blunt approach. "I can't breathe."

She sidled down lower, away from his stomach, too far away. He wasn't sure if that helped at all, for now he was nauseated for an entirely different reason. "Why now, Sasuke?" she asked plaintively. "Fifteen years of pining after you. . ."

"I can't think."

It took her a few moments to realize why. When she did, a faint blush bloomed across her cheeks. It did no good whatsoever to his already splinted dignity, but at least it got them off the floor. They were sitting on her sofa now, with a reasonable distance between them.

"I'm sorry I made fun of you when you proposed," Sakura began. "I didn't realize . . . I mean, I couldn't even wrap my mind around why you would want me in such a role."

". . ."

"I mean, we're talking about the future Uchiha matriarch here. Anybody would expect her to be prodigious and beyond reproach and with an impressive bloodline. Both my parents are civilians. My old man whips up a mean yakisoba, but he's not really what you'd label genius."

"You–"

"Plus, there's nothing remarkable about me. I'm smart and average, discounting the width of my forehead. I really can't imagine how anybody would want me for a wife, since I can't cook. Well, aside from rice balls and salads. And yakitori and—"

"Sakura, shut up."

"I'm trying to," she retorted.

"Fifteen years, you said." He ignored her glare. "What made you stop."

The question had obviously given direction to her thoughts, for her expression calmed into thoughtful and serious. Analysis, after all, was one of Sakura's forte.

"I don't know," she finally answered. "It simply ceased to be an issue, having you exclusively, I mean. Isn't that what pining away is all about? Isn't it a need to establish a claim on a person? I guess, I grew up. We were friends and we got along. It fitted well. Why break a beautiful, functional thing?"

He nodded. "It's not a closed issue then."

"Huh?"

"You don't find the idea completely repugnant."

"Not really." Her brow wrinkled as she turned the idea in her head. "A little weird when you think about it."

"But not incongruous to your system."

"I–I suppose not. Not to the point of nausea, anyway."

"So asking the same question again, at some point, won't be in vain."

". . . no."

"Good."

"Good?" she echoed. She looked up at him, her questioning eyes a darker hue from the low light of the table lamp. At this point, the 'reasonable space' between them had all but vanished.

"Aa," he breathed.

"You're not drunk, are you, Sasuke-kun?" she asked. "You aren't going back to avoiding me tomorrow, are you?"

"Moot question. Were you drinking?"

He didn't wait around for her answer, though, and decided to find out himself. He tasted traces of mango and passion fruit on her lips, and decided Ino had gorged her best friend with the same drink. Sakura didn't exactly respond in kind to his overture, but she didn't do so violently either. His spine, he noted, was intact, and he took this as a favorable sign.

"Are you seducing me?" she asked when she pulled away. The question was surprisingly non-threatening.

"Should I stop?" he returned.

"No," came the prim answer. "You don't have to."

What brought about her suddenly docile demeanor mystified him, but he decided not to pursue that line of thinking. Further advances seemed welcome, and that occupied his interest at the moment, which was getting increasingly fluid and foggy and hard to grip. Full speed ahead seemed perfectly reasonable. He was received enthusiastically enough, so he made himself comfortable, draping his aching body over hers on the sofa.

"Were you victimized too by Ino-chan?" she asked in between breaths when they briefly parted.

He resumed the broken kiss, deeper now, so she could find out for herself. The question of Ino and victim seemed to evaporate from her mind, for she stopped her inquiry and instead relaxed into his lazy movements, twining her arms around his neck and shifting to sink further into her rickety, secondhand sofa.

"This isn't the place to do this," she said, speaking against his mouth. Her wry observation dissolved into giggles, once she realized how counterproductive that was.

She pushed him away then, and once she caught her breath, resumed her speech. "Being that we are conducting an experiment here–"

"Is that what this is?" he said ungraciously.

"Hush." She continued. "We should keep extraneous variables at a minimum. Just you, and me, and hormones, and applied biology."

"You talk too much."

"I'm nervous."

Perhaps, if he set the example, she'd shut up. Wordlessly, he swept her up in his arms, ignoring her indignant yelp. He carried her as gently as he could, though he felt his fingers digging into her thigh deeply. She would bruise tomorrow, but it was better than dropping her while he made his way up the narrow flight of stairs. Besides, it wasn't the only mark he was going to leave on her body.

He knew her room enough to know where her bed was in relation to the door, even in the darkness. It took them both a while to adjust to the faint light of the gibbous moon. They weren't hurried, kept with the deliberate pace they began with, but they fumbled with each others clothing, the simple buckles and buttons becoming puzzles that challenged their fingers and teeth.

He could see enough of her supple body for his breath to further quicken, for his lips to plot their wayfaring, across her collarbone, down her breastbone, and the pert mounds that were puckered in her cool room. He suckled on one, then gave due attention to the other, before nipping down her belly. His tongue then dipped into her navel; in congruence, a slim finger made tentative exploration of down lower. It was followed by a second, a third, and by then she danced to the deft manipulation of his hands and mouth, sang to the dictations of his flesh.

Their joining was slow, careful, threatened to tear his sanity to shreds. His most vivid imaginings gave it no justice, the mind-numbing pleasure of her heat invaginating his, their bodies melding, a well-approximated wound closing. For two people to occupy one space, one fraction of time was an impossibility; when his whole shaft was finally sheathed inside of her, it felt damningly, infinitely close. He gave no quarter and tensed against her tension, pulled against her push. It drew them into a standstill, a teetering pause.

"This fits well, too, doesn't it?" he murmured to her, taking advantage of the stalling time.

Her affirmation was clarion, though her voice quivered with emotions they dared not speak of.

This was enough for him, for now.

Willingly, he lost himself in the cadence of their duel, lost himself till the rush of sensations crested into a blinding, stifling explosion. 'Self' did not exist, remained indistinct and indivisible, roiling with the oceans as the earth shifted and flowed, spinning with the stars as the universe stretched and hurtled. He was not, naught, till the rush had whittled away into a slow and dreamy denouement, naught till each gasp, gulp of air knifed him back into consciousness. But no matter how far flung the oblivion, with him always remained the awareness of her being present, of her being with him, of their being _them_.

"I love you," she said, as they started falling.

One day, she'll mean it the way he wanted her to mean it.

---

"_And what would you have me do now?"_

"_Accept my thanks?"_

"_I thought you're going to volunteer to help me repopulate my clan."_

"_Fat chance. But you know, you are thirty— "_

"You're_ thirty."_

"_Yes, I am. And soon you'll be thirty, too. I may not have been supportive of the avenging part, but this ambition I'm all for."_

---

He sat on Sakura's bed the night before his thirty-first birthday. She in turn was nestled in among his limbs, her back leaning against his chest. She was deep in thought, but didn't seem to mind him nuzzling her neck.

"The start is a little unorthodox," she suddenly announced. "But I think we could now call it official."

"Hm." He was, quite frankly, more intrigued by how she managed to keep her voice level than what she really meant to announce as official.

"Oh, please. You won't be the one subjected to the censure of the world and all that."

She twisted around to look at him. He hoped his expression didn't betray the extent of his bemusement.

"Do you remember the photograph you gave me?" she asked. "That one with the funny expression on your face."

"No."

"Here." She reached over to her bedside table and placed the framed picture along his eye level. "Remember now?"

He looked at it in hopes it would satisfy her enough to keep her from moving too far out of range. He was in his formal kimono, midnight blue, amidst the chaos of the old Team 7, wreaking havoc during the reception of Naruto's wedding last summer. It wasn't a bad picture of her. The colors of her kimono were resplendent, balancing her girlish air of innocence with the twinkle of delicious promise in her eyes.

"Remember how I said I'd remind you of that blissful feeling you had in the middle of all that chaos?"

". . ."

"Not following, huh?" she said after a long bit. His muzzling was doing well in prolonging her silent pauses.

"Cut to chase, Sakura," he muttered absently.

"I'm pregnant, Sasuke."

He froze, an inexplicable feeling in his chest that was like and so unlike the high of the hunt rose from his belly. He could blame it on the curry Sakura's father had force-fed him, but Sasuke has of late decided that hanging out with honesty wasn't such a bad thing after all.

"That's nice," he said. An understatement, but it was better than choking on a rush of words. That would be undignified.

"Isn't it?" she said, arching her back to encourage his ministrations.

"You have to take responsibility," he told her gravely.

"Huh? Shouldn't I be saying that to you?"

"Marry me, Sakura," came the calm command. "You can't be the Uchiha matriarch without being an Uchiha."

"I don't really have a choice, do I?" she said ruefully. "You've been bullying me into this post the past year."

Interestingly enough, she didn't sound the least bit bullied. "You brought this upon yourself," he informed her.

"You're talking about that heart-to-heart talk that couple of nights after Hokage-sama got married right?

"You might as well have volunteered back then," he agreed.

---

"_You see, I wish you happiness, Sasuke-kun. It's not just learning how to crack green jokes or keeping getting-piss-drunk engagements with the boys. I mean, real happiness. You deserve it, Sasuke-kun. And I know you want reasons, you stupid, stubborn man, but there are no qualifications to deserve happiness! Allow yourself real happiness. Please."_

"_Real happiness, huh? I think it would be a waste of my time, if I repeat that speech I gave you back when we were thirteen: I'm not like you."_

"_And it would be a waste of mine to repeat the speech I gave you back when we were fifteen after I beat you to a bloody pulp: I don't give a shit."_

_Sasuke began to laugh. It was a dry sort of laugh, even after all these years, but it was still a laugh._

"_As for the gratitude you voiced that fateful day you broke the heart of a hapless thirteen year old girl... You're welcome."_

"_You're annoying, you know that?"_

"_I know. But I like closure, Sasuke-kun."_

"_You got it then."_

---

end.

AN: Originally, the fic was supposed to be only lightly based on an old friendship one-shot, "Closure," in the Kataga drabble depository. I was pressed for time, and I needed away to give the piece cohesion without resorting to flashbacks or a long retelling from Sasuke. So there you have it. Bits of the dialogue from the other fic.


	30. Superstition lime and crude humor

Disclaimer: Just borrowing Kishimoto's work for self-applied therapy against RL. Needless to say, it backfired.

Warning: R for crude humor, lime, and crack.

**Superstition**

_In response for an LJ meme more than a year ago. And yes, it started out as serious._

Their relationship was built around these silences, she once said, an objective comment she offered to one of the greatest disparagers of their relationship. Naruto was won over after a hundred or so of these arguments. Some days, their roles ended up switched, with him assuaging her fears with his colorful alternative explanations whenever her husband failed to act more appropriately like a husband. Heck, she'll even settle for a responsive human being who'll tell her how big he wanted the onions sliced without the annoyed grunt.

(He loved her, of course. That wasn't the problem.)

It was this. It was his refusal to share with her the multitude of things that dragged down his day. They were things of little consequence, he might say once she's badgered him enough, issues left over, left hanging over his head. Sakura disagreed; history, time, would judge him—perhaps, unforgivingly-but he didn't need to live each moment under this threat. She could listen to him, even if never completely understanding him, at least offer some release, alleviate his pains by simple acknowledgment. The negativity he lived with could nest in the secreted corners of his soul, would rot and weaken his fundamentals, his heart.

(His heart, in spite of-because of— everything, was a great, great heart. . .)

So.

Yes, silences were fine. Even brooding was fine, to some extent. Her constant bete noir for the past three months now was his tendency to go off to the deep end while preparing for and cleaning up after supper. Their routine involved her doing the preparations: chopping, peeling, picking, and washing. He did the actual cooking, being more versed and skillful with it. With dishwashing, they alternated. Sasuke had survived by himself for years and didn't have issued with domesticity. (Though not having a female around for years did lead to bathroom habits that tested Sakura's sensibilities .)

He would usually sit at the breakfast nook. He'd have his elbows resting on the table, hands entwined under his chin. He would watch her for a few minutes before spacing out. It didn't seem like a moment's preoccupation on some passing thought. His eyes practically glazed over, under a pair of eyebrows that wasn't quite what you'd call a scowl.  
Because Sakura knew everybody needed such silences, she let it pass the first time. She did the same with the second, and then the third. . .

"Sasuke," she prompted carefully one evening.

Oddly enough, he didn't startle out of his trance. He surfaced from it gradually, like a dead body floating down a creek days after a storm.

"What?" he asked eventually. "The onions are sliced the right way."

"It's not that." She knew he hated the coming question. "Is anything wrong?"

"Does something have to be?" he returned, sporting an expression of profound irritation.

And because Sakura didn't exactly have such a peachy day either, she stormed out of the house before she could beat him to a bloody pulp.

"Maybe he was chatting up a dead cousin or something," Naruto said with a shrug. They were sitting in her living room, with the front door ajar to let the mild breeze in. "He keeps little demon pets. Did you know that?"

Sai had a different theory.

"Say, ugly, are you putting out?"

"Ex_cuse_ me?"

"You know. . . put out, do things the female do to get male spermatozoa, spread your-"

"If you complete that sentence," Sakura interrupted sweetly. "I'll spread your innards all over Hokage-sama's dinner table and pray he dies from some virulent disease."

"Hey!" the said Hokage protested. "What did I do?"

"Naruto, why did you bring this aberration from hell into my house?"

"I'm not a marriage counselor, Sakura-chan."

"And he is?"

The blond man scratched at his whiskers sheepishly.

"It's not a marriage issue, okay? I wanted to talk to you because sometimes your insight on him is so right on, it's flat-out disturbing."

"Insight, huh? The old woman—" He was referring to one of his predecessors and Sakura's own teacher. "—told me to stop reading comics in the toilet."

"Please. My husband is emotionally stunted, not constipated."

"You never know," came the dark mutter. "But Sai made a good point, didn't he?"

"What are you saying? Sai is just being an ass, isn't he?"

"Thank you, Naruto," the dark-haired jounin spoke up, though he didn't leave the Hokage's general vicinity. "On the question of fryingpan-face putting out, I'm assuming the answer is no."

"That is so not true," Sakura huffed. "Besides, it's none of your business."

"How often do you guys do it?"

"As- as often as we want!" The mednin's cheek was violently red, but she kept her dignity and bore Sai's probing tone rather well.

"Okay, so when was the last time you did it?"

". . . I am not answering that question, okay? Why are you badgering me?"

"You don't remember, do you?"

". . . Ugh. Hokage-sama, make him stop!"

"Sorry, Sakura-chan," Naruto said, not really trying that hard to hide his grin. "He invited himself, you know."

"Well, _you_ need to exercise some semblance of political will _and kick him out_!"

But Sai had already formed his unwanted diagnosis, and his smiling face had turned grave. "I sense," he portended. "A deprived penis."

"Who's penis?" interrupted a loud incredulous voice.

"Nobody said penis!" came Naruto's nervous denial. Kami-sama, if he had to sit through another matchmaking session. . .

"Wait," the newcomer persisted. "Hokage-sama has penis-envy?"

"Wait," Sai mimicked. "Hokage-sama has a penis?"

"SHUT UP, SAI! You're the one with no penis! And you, Ino, you're the one with penis-envy! Stop, man-hating!"

"Will you guys stop saying that word?" Sakura demanded. "And what is this, Naruto? Am I to receive every Dick and Harry in the entire Fire Country?"

"I think the problem is you not receiving any," pointed out Sai.

"What's wrong with the word, 'penis'?" asked Shikamaru, coming in after Ino.

His other blonde companion gave him a withering look.

"The question's purely academic."

"Temari-san," Sakura said, bravely scraping up a hospitable front. "Welcome to our home. I'm sure you're used to these weird conversations, but I'll apologize on all of our behalf."

"Now you know our Hokage has no penis," said Sai seriously. "Please don't take it against all Leaf shinobi."

Ponytail swinging, Ino sauntered towards the dark-haired ninja. "Wait," she repeated. "So whose penis were you talking about originally?"

"Sasuke's," Sakura said tiredly. "And can we stop calling it that?"

"Fine by me." Again Sai. "There's always manhood, privates, member, the Uchiha family jewels, wanton shaft of darkness, dingdong-Itachi's-dead, I'm a bratwurst, the Uchiha constrictor, number 1 snake-fighting cock—"

"GET THE HELL OUT MY HOUSE!"

At that point, Sai really had to. As the pink-haired monster had already clobbered him three times, it was only a matter of time before he got permanent brain damage. He didn't leave, however, without a nonchalant warning about having last laughs and all that. Sakura ignored him and was able to resist running after him to commit blood murder.

"Can we get this over with?" Naruto asked plaintively. "I'm late for a meeting with the Sand ambassador."

"We've kinda brought her," Ino said with a giggle. "I'm sure, Temari wouldn't mind you finishing this riveting discussion."

"The problem is, Sasuke is brooding too much," Sakura announced, just so she could get rid of her increasingly unwanted guests. "And I was worried about him because he won't tell me anything. I was trying to find out if Naruto knew why, but Sai had to tag along and talk about his eternal obsession."

"That is so scary." Ino's eyes were huge and a but So you have to watch out against fangirls _and_ fanboys. That's the problem when you marry a genocidal sociopath with a pretty face and tight ass."

"Anyway," Naruto said, before Sakura could finish counting to ten and scream. "Sai thinks Sakura isn't giving Sasuke enough baby-making time. And that's why the bastard has been brooding more than usual."

"Doubt it," came the chorus from the other three almost immediately.

"Okay, fine!" the pink-haired jounin exploded in exasperation. "We do it every twenty-three days or so! What do you all think of me, some sort of nympho?"

"Not at all," said Temari.

"Nope," Ino concurred.

"You go, girl," said Shikamaru dryly. "I'm sure that's what anybody in your place would do."

"That's right, Sakura-chan. I'd totally borderline rape him, baby."

"First of all, Shikamaru," Sakura said. "That's creepier than Sai naming my husband's private parts. And you, Ino-buta, hands off my man! You're already part of the Nara harem."

"Actually, it's Temari's harem," Ino clarified with aplomb. "Not this pushover's."

"So," Naruto spoke up after an awkward silence. "Sasuke only gets it once a month? Is he that bad in bed?"

"Or is it the other way around," Ino said in horror. "After all that chasing, Sakura turns out to be frigid?"

Sakura had given up retaining any semblance of privacy at that point. "He thinks we shouldn't have kids yet," she said to derail their ideas before they got more creative. "So. . . that's. . . it. . . Please, stop staring at me like I've lost my mind."

"More like pure unadulterated admiration," deadpanned Shikamaru.

"Actually, I don't get it," Ino said. "Haven't you guys heard of contraception?"

Sakura muttered something that made everyone strain to hear.

"Did you say fertility awareness?"

"What's that?" Naruto asked.

"They count days and time, and they have sex on days she's infertile," Shikamaru explained. "It's really troublesome."

"I'm sure you'll find it so," Temari said sardonically. "They also have to observe the changes in the woman's body."

"Once every twenty-three days doesn't figure though," Shikamaru continued clinically. "You should have at least ten days each cycle."

"Well, no," Sakura said, fidgeting. "Between his and my work schedule, it's hard to figure time when it's like definitely safe."

"But you're mednin, right?" The details of the topic had obviously gone over poor Hokage-sama's head. "The changes-in-the-body part should be easy for you, right?"

Sakura, for some reason, blushed and didn't answer.

"You don't actually like this set up, do you?" Naruto asked.

The pink-haired woman shook her head.

"Have you told him?"

A negative again.

"Maybe if you're honest by example, he'd be too?"

"That isn't quite the insight I've been looking for," Sakura admitted. "But sometimes the simplest ideas work best, I suppose. It's worth a try."

Shikamaru and Temari nodded in agreement, but Ino remained preoccupied.

"Huh," she said after a while. "So Sasuke has some weird prejudice against condoms, but he doesn't want to knock you up. Is it an Uchiha clan thing?"

Sakura smiled wryly. "Something about a first-born son," she said. "So that it's always a boy first."

"Wait," Naruto said. "So he doesn't actually not want kids, right?"

"He wants to wait till his probation period is over. That way, it's less likely for our child's status as a Konoha citizen to be affected by it."

"That's bullshit. What the hell does that have to with anything? They say kids shouldn't be glorified for what good their parents did, so why should they be hated for the bad?"

Sakura smiled again, this time, sadly. "Even if you say that, Hokage-sama, even you who've changed the world can't really change people's memories, you know."

Sasuke came home that evening to an uncharacteristically quiet wife. Of course, Sakura would hasten to clarify that quiet did not equate to mute. Even though she was the one a tad absent today, they easily went through their routines. It was notable, she conceded, but not alarming. She doubted Sasuke had noticed at all, she thought to herself as she washed the dishes after their simple meal of rice, fresh tomatoes, and salted eggs.

"How much ammunition do you need?" the sarcastic drawl came just as she wiped her hands after a final rinse of the sink.

"What was that, Sasuke-kun?" she replied after a while, lapsing to her typical way of addressing him as a child. "I'm kinda spacey today."

"I asked, how long do you plan to lecture me this time, wife?"

It took her a stymied moment to decipher his meaning. "Is it that obvious?" she asked when she finally did.

"No matter how diplomatic you plot your script, if you think it'll piss me off, it probably will. Just say it."

"Please. How could I worry about diplomacy when I haven't decided on an opening line?"

He was sitting on the sturdy wooden table, in his usual pose, wearing his customary summer robe of dark blue. Perhaps it was the scanty light in his area of the kitchen, but his dark eyes appeared hooded. Perhaps, he was already angry, thinking she was preparing yet another delicate warning about his performance as an average menial worker in the town of Konoha. Sakura couldn't really find it in her heart to blame him, if he lashed out at her, but she was past hiding the fact that she wasn't the type of woman to take emotional displacement like that sitting down.

"And since, as you said, it'll piss you off, anyway, I should just ask."

"Aa."

"What are you thinking, right now?" Chagrined by his arrogant tone the moment he started to speak, she made her question sound offensively blunt.

"Your friends are weird."

"Huh? And what do they have to do with you?"

He took out something from his sleeve and tossed it on the table. Actually, it was a bunch of something. They were a bunch of small packages that looked suspiciously like. . .

"W-who gave them to you?" she demanded, though she already had her suspicions.

"Your weird friend with the expressionless face and that midriff shirt."

Sakura picked up the note with the little packets and read it aloud. "For the sake of the safety and mental health of the citizens of Konohagakure no Sato, I hereby charge you, Uchiha Sasuke, to give your blushing bride, not only some, but m-more? What the–!"

"What the hell is right." Though deceptively mild, her husband of three months had a dangerous edge to his low voice. "What have you been telling that dead last?"

"This is obviously not Hokage-sama's handwriting! Besides, I-I don't understand how I became the butt of jokes when you-"

"Let me understand this," Sasuke continued in the same flat tone. "Not only am I a rehabilitating psychotic prone to relapsing and in danger of gutting a whole village of idiots, but I'm also your sexually deprived pet, the damaged goods you've taken up as your whipping boy."

"Why are you turning it into this again?" Sakura whispered. His last statement considerably altered the tenor of their conversation yet again. No longer was she sheepishly abashed; she was furious. "If I had to take pity on some charity case, I had loads of alternatives to pick from."

"You are such a hypocrite, waxing poetic about transparency and honesty in marriage, but you can't say it to my face that you have problems with—"

"Don't you dare say it, Sasuke. Don't you dare! Why is everybody making up crap about this like this was some big joke? Kami-sama, I was worried about you! I only wanted to hear what Naruto thought because he usually knows more than I do. And so what if I am afraid you'd suddenly say, 'To hell with this place,' and leave? Can I blame you?"

They were both standing in front of the sink by now, hard-set faces inches away from each other. Sasuke's scowl smoothed back to its usual stoic, though his eyes still burned with the black heat of his anger.

"You want to know what I've been thinking that badly?" he snarled after a few moments of staring her down. "I'll tell you: I couldn't decide whether to throw you on the bed, slam you on that table, or bend you over the sink and ravage you where you are. If I'm wanting to fuck you every minute of my damned, pointless existence, then it's a little too late to suggest I can even leave you behind, is it?"

She stared up at him, dazed.

"Still can't understand?" he hissed to her nearer ear, gripping her by both arms to keep her in place. "I've been fantasizing about having my way with you. I've imagined taking you in a myriad of positions, in various states of undress. . . How the mighty have fallen, salivating over a mere woman, with a mediocre bust-line and a skinny ass. . ."

"W-who have you been hanging out with?" Sakura burst out incredulously.

". . .?"

"Do you expect me to believe you came up 'damned, pointless existence' all on your own?" Sakura's shoulder relaxed and she collapsed against her husband in relief. "If you're willing to put up a show like this, I believe you."

". . . are you an idiot?"

"You are so rude, sometimes," she complained with deep annoyance. "I appreciate the effort, though, kami-sama, you scared me there for a moment."

She yelped in shock when he pushed her against the kitchen counter, trapping her with a thigh to her crotch.

"Sasuke, joke's over," she said, placating. "I'm giving you my blessing to totally beat the crap out of the person who put you up to this."

The second push was none too gentle; she slammed against the wooden cupboards with a force that took her breath away. When she regained coherence, she found herself pressed tightly against his body. What she felt through his thin clothing was unmistakable, and she flushed violently.

"S-sasuke," she stammered uncertainly. "You don't want to do this."

"You presume to know what I want now?" He was speaking against her nape, tickling the tiny hair there with his breath.

"We're not. . . we're not safe today." She could feel the burn of his tongue slither about her neck, the graze of his teeth on an ear, the subtle but urgent motion of his body against hers, much lower. "W-we shouldn't."

She gasped when he finally engulfed her with his hot mouth to thoroughly explore the contours and dips of her collarbone. Impatiently, his right hand replaced the steady pressure of his knee against her center, his fingers seeking and impetuous, while his left held her still, boding no resistance. She whimpered when he fingered her throbbing nub once and continued to avoid it; she cried out when he tested her portal with a violent thrust of a thumb.

Lost in his deft ministrations after that lone stab of pain, she offered no protest for a few tense moments. Then she mewled in soft discontent when he withdrew his hand. He nudged her chin up to make her look at him, smearing her face with her own juices.

"What were you saying about not wanting this, hypocrite?" he taunted. "If you'd get rid of the evidence, I might consider stopping."

He touched his knuckles to her lips, even as his he began to fondle her breasts with his other hand. Because she retained enough sense to recognize an order, she proceeded to lick his fingers clean of her essence.

"Sasuke-kun?" she murmured uncertainly, seemingly ages later.

He had stopped.

"Why?" he asked, voice fraught with an unfathomable hurt.

She looked at him in concern, this time the one with a pincer grip on the other's shoulders. "Why what?" she asked, as if mirroring his pained manner reflexively. "Weren't you the one who said we should wait?"

"Ever heard of condoms?" he returned sarcastically.

"Who was it who stuck to this ridiculous superstition about Uchiha men never using contraception and this being the reason to their having first-born male children since the dawn of time?"

"I wouldn't mind a daughter," her husband said seriously.

Sakura could hardly believe what he was saying. "What?" she barked, just because it might make her feel less like a moron. "What are you saying?"

"I never said I wanted a boy first," Sasuke continued. "If it's a girl, we can marry her off to a respectable Konoha nin who'll confer to her immunity from all the meddling of this idiot village government."

"And what about other kids if we have them?" Sakura said skeptically.

Sasuke shrugged. "My daughter should have the looks and skills to wrap such a man around her fingers."

"And share the wealth to her siblings," his wife completed with a shake of her head. "And if all else fails, our Hokage-sama will make it his personal responsibility to protect your offspring."

"So I've been told."

". . . I've had a weird day."

"Aa."

"You should take steps to help me forget."

"I was doing that."

"You should do it at a more comfortable place," she said primly.

If Sasuke weren't Sasuke, he would have rolled his eyes.

She tiptoed just a tad and kissed him on the mouth till she was breathless, making sure to press against him in all the right places.

"Is that incentive enough, dear?"

"Be sure to make it worth my while," was all he said, before he whisked them both upstairs.

###

On a day about six months later, Sakura could be seen stalking out of Konoha hospital in a rare mood. She trailed a couple of steps behind her husband, who seemed to be pausing every so often to wait for her to catch up. She seemed affronted by the fact he was being so congenial to her and not so much by the press of her forming child against her bladder.

"Make it worth my while, he said," she muttered darkly under her breath. "Oh, look, I have condoms. They obviously didn't work."

"If we had done it there and then," came Sasuke's mild answer. "You wouldn't have gotten knocked up."

"What? Can you elaborate on yet another Uchiha superstition?"

"Uchiha don't conceive that way."

"That makes no biologic sense whatsoever. You know your icky, tailed little soldiers? They swim anywhere and everywhere. They're single-minded and relentless till they reach ground zero. Gravity is obviously not an effective deterrent—why am I even explaining this to you? Anyway, I'm not going to tell my child she was conceived because her father was so deprived by some idiot superstition, that he attacked poor, unsuspecting mommy on the same dirty kitchen table we use to clean fish and chicken guts."

"By the way," the dark-haired jounin suddenly said. "Your friend with the flat-affect and bare midriff—"

"That jerkwad's name is Sai," Sakura interrupted icily.

"He wants to be the godfather."

"Why would I want our baby to have a godfather that twisted when her parents are already so out there?"

"In honor of the little one's conception, which he claims to have a hand in."

Something in her husband's little smirk made her think. The realization, when it came, was antediluvian. Sakura grabbed at Sasuke's sleeve and pulled out the bunch of little foil packets he still had (because he stopped needing them after a month since he acquired them from Sakura's weird friend. It was then he discovered the saboteur's slight modifications on his gifts. He decided to formulate a new superstition and declared the prophylactics crucial to his wife's safe pregnancy.) She opened one with her teeth, much to Sasuke's unconcealed horror, grabbed a bottle of soda from an unsuspecting passer-by, and poured its content into the sticky rubber sack she managed to shake out with her titanic strength.

The soda poured from tiny, multiple, and obviously there, holes.

"I AM SO GOING TO KILL YOU, SAI!"

~December 16, 2009 (12:06am)

Notes:

I blame no one else but miko-chan. I wrote this for one of her memes, based on an icon where houseband-Sasuke machinates on what to do about a certain med-nin. I think all that talk about the Uchiha family jewels traumatized me and this fic was locked up in the LJ for over a year. (nervous laughter)

I post it now because…1/1/11 has to be an auspicious date, right? I have less chances of being beaned with rotten potatoes and refried beans?

(ducks, anyway)


End file.
